Keeping Even The Broken Promises
by Summer Potter
Summary: It's been four years since Harry Potter woke up in a strange city, with no memory. Harry begins an unexpected journey to uncover who he is and what he's left behind. Turns out Harry has broken a lot of promises he doesn't remember making. Will he ever regain his memories? Will he ever be able to live up to any of his promises?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Missing Memories**

_One moment I'm in the dark and in the next, I'm in the light. I know I'm in here somewhere—the real me—not the person I am when I'm awake. In this place, I know who I am. But I always wake up, and it's all gone. _

_I am trapped in my own mind, unable to remember._

_I could feel myself coming out of the deep sleep, the kind you have when the hospital gives you the really good drugs. This is my second time in the last four years in a hospital. And no, I'm not addicted to these drugs, I only like how deeply I sleep because I feel like I'm closer to the part of my mind that knows who I am and where I came from. _

_I don't know who that person is. I only remember the person I've been for the past four years. _

Waking up is always depressing because you're is aware of the body's ascent from the safety of the mind. It starts with being aware of the light in the room; you start to realize you slept funny and your back hurts, and you start to register the sounds around you.

The first sound Harry heard was the sound of his doctor's voice, just outside the door.

"Yes, he's awake. You can go on in, Miss Reeve."

The next voice is that of Harry's girlfriend's voice—Samantha Reeve. Although he's been asleep, he's sure she was with him until they forced her to go home. Sam would have argued with the nurses, too. "Thank you. Has there been any change?"

"Yes, he woke up around two-thirty this morning." There was a brief pause and then the doctor spoke again, too low for Harry to hear.

Opening his eyes, Harry peered around the room until he spotted Sam and the doctor in the window of the doorway. He could make out the blurry shapes of the white-coated doctor and his girlfriend, in all black. Sam's brownish red hair hung down her back in a shiny mane, different from the messy braid he'd seen her wearing last.

Sam reached out and patted the doctor's arm gratefully, and then turned to open the door. She entered the room and her face lit up as they locked eyes. Sam had beautiful, large blue eyes. Sometimes they made her look a bit like a cartoon character, but Harry thought they were beautiful.

"Hi!" She exclaimed cheerfully, closing the door behind her to give them privacy. "I was so worried about you. It's good to see you awake! The doctor says you're going to be just fine!"

"I'm assuming we're back home?" Harry guessed, glancing around again at the unfamiliar hospital room. "Is it bad that I don't remember coming back?"

His voice sounded rough from his deep sleep. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, wincing as his head suddenly throbbed and his vision blurred for a moment—well, blurred worse than usual. Harry had a fairly strong prescription for his glasses.

Sam moved over to his bedside and took the glasses from the night table. She slid them onto his face and pecked him on the cheek. Sam came into sharp focus, and he saw that she wore that black pencil skirt he liked to see her in. She was fairly dressed up just for a visit to the hospital.

Sam gently pushed his fringe aside, running her fingers through his hair affectionately. "No, the doctor said it's normal. You hit your head pretty hard, Harry."

She leaned forward and pressed her lips gently against his, her fingers brushing against his cheek. The kiss ended and Harry blinked, trying to get a grip on his surroundings. He was having a hard time recalling what had happened to him, although struggling with his memories was not a new challenge.

Sam sat on the side of his bed, her smile faltering. "You remember who I am, don't you?"

Harry looked at her for a moment and then smiled weakly. "You're my Sam."

She smiled back and nodded, lightly kicking off her stilettos. "You had me worried there for a second. So, Doctor Biold says you can come home today. You've got a concussion, but no major damages. We're just lucky that a concussion is all you have."

"A concussion? That's what this headache is?"

She tucked her legs up under her and adjusted her skirt so that it covered her properly. "Yeah. They kept you here because you were pretty out of it in Costa Rica, and because this was your second serious head injury in the last few years. Trust me, getting you back to the States was no easy task, but I wanted to make sure you got the proper medical care."

Running a hand over his head, he found a large bump, but no other sighs of injury. "Remind me again why we thought that mountain hike was a good idea?"

Sam chuckled darkly and patted his hand. "Actually, love, that was _your _brilliant idea. Just like it was your brilliant idea for you and Andrew to stand on that ledge. If you hadn't finished all the beer first, you might have been more hurt by the fall." Her smile faltered and sadness replaced the amused look. "You could have died."

Harry groaned and leaned forward to hug Sam, his arms tugging her close and off-balance. She laughed and edged closer to him as his lips pressed against the side of her head. He buried his nose in her auburn hair, inhaling the smell of her shampoo and the hint of the expensive perfume he'd bought her last Christmas.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," he murmured. "Sorry for ruining our first vacation by being a complete git."

She giggled and kissed him again, lingering this time before pulling back to look up at him. "I love when you use your British slang. It's very sexy." She touched his face, gently pushing his hair from his eyes. Her warm fingers brushed over the pink jagged scar on his forehead and then tangled into his hair.

"I'm just glad you're okay, Harry. Swear you won't do anything that stupid again."

He smiled and kissed her once more. "I swear. Can we get going? I hate hospitals."

"Yes." Sam slid off the bed and pulled her shoes back on. "Absolutely. I'll tell Doctor Biold you're ready to go. Your bag is in that cupboard," she said, pointing to the cupboard door of the nightstand. "Get dressed."

"Thanks Sam"

Sam hurried out of the room, leaving Harry to get dressed. He pulled the duffel from the cupboard and pulled out a blue collared shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He changed quickly, eager to be out of the hospital and get back to his life. He remembered the accident, remembered feeling brave and stupid out there on that cliff. He and Sam, as well as their friends Andrew and his girlfriend Julia, were on a two-day hike to the top of a hill in Costa Rica. Several drinks later and too many steps too close to a ledge and Harry had gone tumbling down the rocky hill.

He had vague, blurry memories of the hospital in Costa Rica. He remembered Sam crying and clutching his hand. He remembered doctors asking him questions, their voices distorted as he swam in and out of consciousness. He remembered hearing the doctors' amazement that he had survived. The doctors had said it was a _miracle_ Harry walked away with nothing but a concussion. No broken bones, no major bleeds; a few cuts, bruises and a bump on the head.

And now, he'd woken up here, back in the United States. He knew he was lucky—too lucky. He probably should never expect to have any luck again.

Luck had gotten him a lot these last few years. Luck had gotten him a job when he probably didn't deserve one. Luck had made him survive his first bad head injury: one with memory loss; one that had affected him almost every damn day since waking up in a strange hospital in New York four years ago.

Luck hadn't however, allowed this second concussion to cause his memories to come back to him.

It had been over four years since that day, and he wasn't any closer to remembering who he was before waking up in New York. The sad part was that he couldn't remember whatever happened to him that made him lose his memories. All he knew was that he was Harry Potter, he was twenty-six, he liked his job at the _New York Times _newspaper, and he loved his girlfriend Samantha Reeve. Harry landed a staff writer job two years ago as a sports journalist. The job had long hours and kept him busy attending games, keeping notes and making deadlines, but he loved it. Writing let him focus on something that wasn't his inability to remember.

Waking up four years ago, he'd found himself alone, with no recollection of where he lived or where he'd been before he got hurt. The doctors weren't able to tell him much. Apparently, Harry been brought in by a kind woman who had found him unconscious on the side of a road. Fortunately, Harry had his wallet on him with everything in it: driver's license, birth certificate, social insurance number, health card, a debit card and a few credit cards. There was no sign of drugs or alcohol in his system, and no physical sign of injury. Baffled by Harry's inability to remember, they tentatively diagnosed him as having amnesia and having likely suffered a recent head trauma, they released him shortly after.

Harry met Sam while checking himself out of the hospital. He tripped over a suitcase she was bringing for her uncle. His clumsiness had cost him a sprained ankle and several more hours in the hospital. Sam had felt so bad that she bought him dinner and drove him home to the address on his driver's license (a home he had no recollection of, but of which he had the keys to).

Samantha Reeve had been his hero. He doubted many other people would have been so generous and helpful. Really, if luck had given him anything, it was Sam. Sam was the only thing about his life in New York that made much sense. She was fun, smart, pretty, and kind. And somehow, she'd stuck around long enough for him to ask her out on a date. Four years and two concussions later, they were living together and relatively happy.

The door opened just as Harry was lacing up his shoes and Sam reappeared with the doctor.

"All ready to go, are we, Mr. Potter?" Dr. Biold asked.

Harry nodded and sat back down on the bed to await his final checkup. "Yes, sir."

"Well, Mr. Potter, let's get you on your way."

Thirty minutes later, Harry's release papers were signed and Harry was leaving the hospital with Sam. He'd had strict orders from the doctor to take it easy for the next few days. Sam was instructed to wake him up tonight every few hours, and if he experienced any worsening symptoms, he should come back to the hospital.

"I'm done with hospitals," Harry declared as Sam flagged down a taxi for them. "There's something so depressing about them."

"Hey, they're not all bad," Sam disagreed lightly, grabbing his hand and hurrying him toward a slowing cab. "It's where you met me, remember?"

Harry grinned and he kissed her quickly before opening the car door for her. "Well, that's true. I still don't want to have to be checked into one again." Harry gave the cab driver their address and then settled back against the seat, putting one arm around Sam. "I think two head injuries are enough. I'm just lucky that that bump on the head didn't mess with my memory anymore."

Sam patted his chest and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Well, nothing permanent, anyway. You were a little confused after the fall… mumbling incoherently and when you looked at me, Andrew and Julia. It was like you didn't know who we were. I don't think you knew who you were, either."

Harry frowned, not remembering any of this. "Really?"

Sam nodded, her face sad. "It was scary. You kept asking if we won."

"Won what?"

Sam shrugged, studying his face. "I dunno, babe. Probably some important game you wrote about. Which reminds me, I got you out of writing that article on the Yankees' game tonight, so it's me and you for dinner. No work, no interruptions."

Their whole trip to Costa Rica had been Sam's solution to solving the 'work' and 'interruptions' issues to their relationship. Lately, they'd both had long hours and it had caused a few fights. "Sounds good."

As the cab wound through the city to their suburban home, Harry stared out the window and thought about what Sam had said. He wondered if in those moments of confusion, he'd remembered what kind of life he'd had before his first accident. Obviously, he lived in New York and he had a job, some money, and an apartment. But did he have friends and family in the city? He still had no idea… the past was foggy to him. However, something told him his friends and family were not in the city. Wouldn't they have come looking for him by now?

Not knowing was very frustrating for him. Harry always felt very close to his mind's realizing the details of the life he'd once had. It was very strange whenever Sam, or Andrew, or Julia asked about his life. While he didn't know anything for sure, some things he knew based on a gut feeling. For instance, he knew that he had loved school. He also knew that he was not very close to his parents.

As stressful as not knowing was, he was grateful for Sam and the support she offered. Loving her made him feel happy and calm. She made things make sense and he felt that as long as he had her in his life, the world would make a bit of sense. Mind you, lately, Harry had become increasingly frustrated with himself and he knew he was taking it out on Sam and their relationship.

Later that night, Harry was sitting at his desk flipping through the day's paper. He lingered on several articles, only reading a few paragraphs of each. Nothing seemed to interest him long enough to invest in reading the whole story. He flipped several pages forward and then several pages back, not really sure what he was looking for.

Harry sighed as he stared at his byline in the sports section, not really sure why he liked writing so much. When he told people what he did for a living, Harry felt kind of stupid. It felt like writing shouldn't have been a natural career choice for him, but again, he had no idea why.

Harry stared at the double-page spread of the sports section. His eyes moved over all the writing in the vertical columns, thinking that it was a lot of boring text. (This wasn't his article—Harry never wrote such lengthy articles). The words just went on and on, stacked on top of each other in tiny typeface. The landscape-photo fit neatly between the columns on the left-side, but even then, it seemed boring. Couldn't a newspaper look more interesting?

He tilted his head as he stared at the visual effect of the words and the picture together on the spread. Raising the paper a little higher, he turned the whole thing in his hands, imagining a different spread: one with different columns, more boxes, and text at different angles. Reading might be way more fun if the articles weren't all set in vertical columns. What about some upside down boxes? Or different typefaces and fonts?

"You know, it might be easier to read if you turned it around," teased Sam from the doorway.

Harry looked up with an embarrassed smile. "Probably," he agreed.

Sam chuckled and came into the room, folding her arms across her chest. Harry noticed that she'd changed into one of his old T-shirts. It was so big on her that it looked like a dress. Sam knew that Harry liked to see her in his shirts as he associated this fashion choice with sex, as in 'you took off all my clothes so I've got to wear yours.'

"What are you doing, weirdo? You work at the paper, don't you know how to read it?"

Harry smiled and shrugged. He wasn't about to admit what he was just thinking about. Sometimes his mind came up with weird ideas. He had always assumed it was a side-effect of his first head injury. "I dunno. You going to bed?"

She nodded and leaned over his desk to kiss him lightly. He kissed her back and deepened the kiss, pleased when a soft moan escaped her. She pulled back with a soft, sexy smile and gestured to the door.

"Yes. You want to come join me?"

Harry stared again at the paper, wishing that it held the answers he wanted, wishing he knew which answers he was looking for. Sam sighed and he looked up at her guiltily. He knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth and folded her arms across her chest. Sam could see the hesitation on his face; his unwillingness again to act like a normal couple.

"Harry, come on, come to bed. You're obsessing again. You did this the last time you hit your head. The doctor told you that your memories won't come back by you sheer will. They need to be triggered, and the best way to do that is to live your life, have fun, and relax. They'll come back, they will."

He was tired of hearing it. Tired of remembering nothing of his life before waking up in a hospital four years ago. Tired of nothing triggering his memory and not being able to do anything to help solve his identity crisis. Shouldn't this second blow to the head have corrected the first one?

Harry tried to keep his voice even, but he could feel himself becoming angry, quickly. This topic always made him irritable. "It's been four years and I haven't made any progress. I still don't have a clue about my family, my friends… who I was before they found me. I need to know, Sam!"

"Harry, you have family and you have friends here. I love you, our friends love you. We're happy and we have great jobs, a nice life, and our health. Maybe this isn't exactly what you want, but it's not that bad either."

Frustration and exhaustion made him snap. "I want to know who I am," he barked, snatching the newspaper and tossing it across the room. Despite how angry he felt, Harry knew Sam was just trying to be optimistic. He knew that he was hurting her every time he told her that what he had wasn't good enough.

Sam glared at him and Harry eventually sighed, forcing his temper under control. "You don't understand what this is like for me. Sam, I love you, but I know that there's more to who I am—there must be. And I know I'm close to the truth, but its like I'm in the dark and the truth is on the other side of a brick wall. I can't get to that part of me, and I'm worried I won't ever know."

Sam didn't speak for a long time. When she finally did, she sounded weary. "Harry, you need to listen to your doctor. Just… relax. You won't remember anything by obsessing. These things take time."

He sank back down to his desk chair and put his head in his hands. "It feels like I'm running out of time. I need to know who I am, Sam. Why can't I remember? Why doesn't anyone know why I was on the side of the road in the first place?"

"I don't have the answers," she told him softly, relaxing her defensive stance at last. She leaned in and kissed his forehead briefly as a sign of making peace.

He let out a long breath, his eyes on his desk. "Sorry I yelled."

"Come to bed, Harry." She moved to the doorway and then paused to look back at him, as if she expected him to follow, but he wasn't ready yet. He was still pulling his temper under control.

"I'll be right there."

He could feel her disapproving look from the doorway when he didn't move, but she gave up and left without another word. Sam disappeared down the hall to their shared bedroom, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

Harry was aware that his temper and frustration was taking a toll on their relationship. Sam blamed him outright for their lack of a sexual relationship, and their lack of communication. She had accused him of burying himself in his work and of being too distracted. She had often assumed he wanted to break up with her, but this wasn't true. As much as these accusations hurt him and pissed him off, Harry knew that she was hurting. Sam was doing her best to be supportive, but Harry couldn't shake his own feelings, and Sam couldn't ignore her own pain, rejection, and the anxiety she felt about losing him.

The problem was all his, but h didn't know how not to think about not remembering. He loved Sam; she was the only person in this world closest to being family. He also knew that she was hoping he'd propose soon, which was also contributing to their fights, but Harry wasn't ready. Something in his gut told him that he couldn't propose until he remembered.

Harry did love Sam, and he hated that he was always disappointing her. He wished that he could just forget his anger and be happy with what he had. But something in his heart was telling him remembering was more important that anything.

Deciding he needed to at least try and relax and live a normal life, he followed Sam to their bedroom. Sam was reclining on their pillows, looking extremely worried until she spotted him. She sat up a little more and offered a shy smile. Harry smiled back and went to her, intent on making her happy and calming her down, at least for tonight.

Sam deserved much better than him. As selfish as she could be with her feelings sometimes, Harry knew he was far more selfish in that he couldn't let her find someone who would treat her a lot better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The First Clue**

By the time Harry woke up the next day, Sam had already gone to work. It was only nine-thirty when he got out of bed, but after being woken up every few hours, he wasn't able to fall into a deep sleep. Harry was used to getting up early for work and with the sun lighting up the room, Harry reluctantly got up to start his day. Feeling groggy and a little grumpy, Harry headed into the kitchen for a large cup of coffee and some breakfast.

After turning on the coffee percolator, Harry turned on the radio to his favorite station and then started on a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon. Several sips of coffee later, he began to feel more alert and energetic. Coffee was such an important part of the day as a journalist. Unfortunately this work-habit had crossed into his personal life and had become an addiction. Generally, he drank two to three cups in a day, and he liked his coffee black.

Harry took his time eating his breakfast, which was a luxury he didn't often have. After eating, he cleaned up his and Sam's dirty breakfast dishes and then got dressed. Harry so rarely had a full day off where he could relax and forget about work that he planned to use today as thoroughly as he could. He planned to head downtown and wander the city, just to get out of the house. He wondered whether or not Andrew, who worked for a law firm downtown, would be available for lunch. Andrew was forever telling him that they should get together and do lunch, but Harry so rarely had the time to do so. Usually, he just grabbed something quick on his break and ate it at his desk.

Harry made it downtown within thirty minutes by bus, figuring he could stop by his friend's office around noon. As it was only a little after ten-thirty, Harry killed time by wandering down a few streets and visiting any shop that caught his eye. He loved the city, loved that you could kill hours just walking around New York. There was just so much to see and do in this city, that it never bored him.

Harry was thinking just how successful his day off was as he waited at a coffee shop for his second cup of coffee, when he noticed that two young women were staring at him. He tried to ignore them, wondering why on earth they were looking at him, but ignoring them became even harder when they started whispering to each other. Clearly, they lacked subtly and basic manners.

He glanced at the girls again, confused as to why they were staring at him. He had no idea who they were and they looked a few years younger than he was. Sometimes some men recognized him from his staff picture, but unless they were daily readers of the sports section of the paper, even this was a rare occurrence.

When he was handed his cup of coffee, Harry took it quickly, feeling grateful to be able to leave the shop. He was just about to leave when one of the girls tapped him on the shoulder. Harry turned and took a nervous step back when he realized that they were suddenly very close to him.

"Hi," said one of the girls, the braver of the two.

"Hello," Harry said slowly, looking from one girl to the other. In a city where he had an accent, Harry immediately recognized that these girls were Brits, too. "Can I help you?"

"My friend and I were just wondering if it was you," the girl spluttered, sounding a little nervous now. Her eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead and Harry suddenly felt self-conscious. He hated people staring at his scar—a lightening-bolt shaped mark on one's forehead wasn't exactly a flattering facial feature.

Harry smoothed his fringe nervously over his scar. "What?"

"Harry Potter," said the other girl, even more nervously. She blushed furiously and bowed her head, as if she was ashamed to have spoken up. "That's you, isn't it?"

Harry looked between the girls again, thoroughly confused. "Yes. How did you know that?"

The girls immediately looked very excited. The first girl turned to her friend and exclaimed, "I knew it. I told you! I can't believe this! Mum will never believe this!"

"How did you know my name?" Harry asked again, uncomfortable that they were speaking like he wasn't there at all.

The first girl looked at him as if he were quite daft. Even the second girl looked surprised that he'd asked that question.

The first girl began digging hurriedly in her bag for something as she answered him. "We've seen pictures. No one's really seen you in years, but you haven't changed much. The scar is a dead-giveaway." She pulled a pen and sheet of folded paper from the depths of her bag, and held it out to him. She wore a hopeful smile on her face, her lashes fluttering in an unmistakable fashion. "I'd love to know about what you've been up to—everyone would. You like coffee? We should grab one sometime! Would you mind terribly?" She asked sweetly.

Harry stared in horror at the pen and paper. This had never, ever happened to him. If Sam were here, she'd think this was very funny and she'd make the girls feel embarrassed by kissing him or introducing herself as his girlfriend. He didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings, but there was no way he was giving his phone number to some weird stalker.

Harry forced a nervous smile and tried to keep his voice gentle. "Look, I'm sure you're nice, and I appreciate that you read my column, but I don't give out my phone number."

The second girl looked mortified, but the bolder one just laughed. "No, no, I just wanted an autograph! It's not every day that you run into Harry Potter!"

Harry hesitated, still unsure. Who asked for the autograph of a common sports journalist? They're enthusiasm over meeting him seemed a bit much…

Deciding that autographing this piece of paper was the only way to escape these girls, he took the pen and paper. He signed it, pleading that the girls would let him go.

The girl admired the autograph with a wide smile. "Oh, _thanks!_ I really appreciate this! This is so cool!"

"You're welcome," he replied awkwardly.

The girl hugged it to her chest. "Listen, I don't really know what happened, but I just wanted you to know that I'm still a big fan! I can't wait to show everyone at school! I'm in Gryffindor, too, you know!"

What in the hell was Gryffindor? Harry backed up toward the door and raised a hand in farewell. "No problem. Well, I've got to go. Goodbye."

"Bye Harry!" Shouted the girls in unison.

The second he was outside, Harry booked it down the street toward Andrew's office. He only slowed when he was sure that the girls weren't following him. He thought about the way the girls had looked at him. It was like they thought he was famous—

more famous than a sports journalist should be to a pair of teenage girls. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this was not the first time he'd been stared at strangely or had a weird encounter with a fan.

While this was the first time that someone wanted an autograph, Harry could remember five times in the past four years that total strangers had stared at him or acted strangely. One of those times, he thought a woman might have taken his picture with a very old camera.

Thinking about all these weird instances, Harry began to wonder if these encounters were clues to his past. As he walked through the bustling New York crowd, Harry entertained ideas about being a famous celebrity. The idea was ridiculous, of course. Harry couldn't sing, dance, or act. Harry didn't have any measurable talent that would land him on TV or on stage, but it was still better to imagine himself as the star of a cable TV show than it was to think about his lack of a memory.

Over lunch, Harry told Andrew about the girls in the coffee shop and about the other times he could remember being stared at. Andrew laughed at first, but then he had the idea of searching Harry's name on the Internet. Harry agreed, but when the search didn't turn anything up, they dropped the idea that Harry could be an A-list celebrity in Britain.

After paying for their meal, Andrew asked Harry if he would like to go with him to pick Julia up from the train station. Harry agreed, having nothing better to do than to bring Julia home from a job interview in New Jersey. He listened to Andrew talk about this new job opportunity and the possibility of them moving to New Jersey if Julia got the job.

"Sam will be disappointed that you two will be so far away," Harry told him as they pulled into the train station. He imagined how much their friends' moving would upset his girlfriend. Sam and Julia had been best friends for nearly ten years! Harry knew that Julia was a big part of the reason that Sam had so much patience for him. Julia kept Sam thinking clearly when poor Sam was struggling to remain supportive on Harry's worst days.

Andrew waved Harry's concerns away. "It won't be so bad. Neither of us mind taking the train! We'll come visit you both often, don't worry."

Grand Central Station was busy as always. Harry followed Andrew through the station to wait near Julia's platform. As Andrew called Julia to tell her that they were at the station and waiting, Harry watched people hurrying around the station, pulling large suitcases and towing children in their wake. Couples, families of all sizes, teenagers, seniors and adults bustled around the station, trying to find their track number or hurrying out to meet a cab. Some were leaving, some were going, some were tourists and getting in the way by standing in the center of a moving crowd and taking pictures.

Harry always liked coming to the train station to watch people. There was something about watching people hurry to their platforms, all going somewhere important that he liked. Sam had never understood his love for Grand Central Station; she hated the crowds, the tourists and the constant rush.

"We get enough of the non-stop rush living in this city," she always said.

Harry wondered if he once had been one of the commuters, always taking trains and hurrying around Grand Central Station with a destination in mind. He wished he had a purpose and a destination now, but he didn't see this in his future. It was difficult to move forward when he had no idea what he was moving forward from.

A loud little girl's voice roused him from his thoughts. "Mom, which track number do we go to again?"

Her brother answered her first in a matter-of-fact, little-kid way. "Track 10!"

The little girl shook her head furiously. "No, track 9! Right, Mom? Track 9!"

Harry watched their frazzled-looking mother with her two blond children tugging at her hands and pointing in the direction of tracks 9 and 10. The mother told the kids it was track 9 and hauled her arguing children with her. Judging by their lack of luggage, Harry hoped that whoever was coming off track 9 would make the kids stop arguing. Usually a reunion with a loved one was just the trick to stop the bickering.

"Julia's train is pulling into the station in about ten minutes. Sorry, we'll have to wait a bit longer." Andrew said as he slid his cellphone back in his suit pocket.

"I don't mind," Harry told him, still watching the family disappear in the crowd that was moving under the sign with the number 9 on it. Harry's eyes lingered on the sign, unsure why it looked familiar.

Harry looked back at Andrew, trying to recall the last time he and Andrew had picked up Julia from the station. "Which track does she come off again?"

"Eighteen," Andrew replied distractedly, already back on his phone and texting.

Harry glanced again at the number 9, feeling weird about that track number. He sometimes got little hints of déjà vu like this, but it never went anywhere. He gave up after a few minutes, unable to determine why his mind liked the number 9 at Grand Central Station.

Harry was back at home a few hours later and making dinner for himself and Sam when she called. Sam told him that she was staying late at work to put together a series of spreads for her boss. Sam was a professional photographer and she did a lot of the photo editing and design layouts herself. She was a perfectionist, but very, very good at her job. Sometimes her long hours were good, since it meant Harry didn't have to feel bad about his staying late at the office.

Sam apologized and told him not to wait up for her. If Sam hadn't sounded chipper and high on a caffeine-buzz, Harry might have been worried that she was avoiding him, but all seemed normal. Sam just sounded jittery like she did when she had too many cups of coffee.

Harry ate dinner on his own, did a little work on an article he was working on. He ended up completing it early and emailing it into his boss. He had a relaxing evening at home, watching television on the sofa and having a beer.

When Harry finally got up to bed, he was exhausted from his long day and poor sleep the night before. He was so tired that he fell asleep almost immediately, not having time to think too much about Sam's empty, cool side of the bed.

Harry had strange dreams that night, dreams that seemed so real that they gave him hope that this was his mind giving him a clue about his past.

A train whistle blew loudly around him and the train platform filled with smoke from an old-fashioned steam engine. This scarlet steam engine was going to take him to school. Harry struggled to load a very heavy trunk into an empty compartment, but he was really struggling. He dropped it three times on his foot and when he finally got it in, he heard a girl laughing at him. Harry emerged from the train to find the source of the laughter, but the smoke was so thick that Harry couldn't see her.

Squinting through the thick smoke, he started to make out the form of a young girl, about sixteen-years-old. "What?" He asked the laughing girl, feeling a little defensive. "That hurt!"

The smoke cleared a little more, but she was no longer in front of him. Her warm hands slid around his waist and he felt her soft lips at his neck. The feeling of her lips, mixed with her soft breath on his neck sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

"You had to do it by hand, did you? There are better ways to load trunks now that we're old enough," she told him, her voice teasing.

Harry wrapped his arms over hers so that she wouldn't let go. He liked the feeling of her pressed against him, and the sound of her voice in his ear.

The train whistle blew again and suddenly there were hundreds of teenagers hurrying forward to board the train. They pushed and moved around them, forcing the girl to let go. Harry looked around for her, but since he didn't know who he was looking for, he just stood there, feeling alone.

Fortunately, the crowd caused the smoke to thin and Harry could see perfectly. He finally saw the girl who had laughed at him and he smiled at her. Seeing her caused his heart to get lodged in his throat and his palms to sweat—he felt like he was thirteen again as she smiled back at him.

But then her smile faded. The train whistle blew another warning blast—it was going to leave any minute now.

"What will you do?" The girl asked him in a little voice as she moved toward him.

Harry stared at her, feeling totally confused. Why was she upset? What was wrong? "When?"

Tears filled her eyes and Harry wanted to make those tears go away. He wanted to kiss her eyes and hold her. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. "When I leave. What will you do?"

Harry looked into her pretty brown eyes and he wished he could make her stop hurting. He could practically see her heart breaking as she stood in front of him, but his legs seemed incapable of taking him to her. Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say, but he really wanted to see her smile again. "I don't know."

She lifted her chin determinedly, but her attempt at bravery wasn't convincing when her bottom lip quivered. Her eyes were bright with tears and her voice shook as she spoke. "I love you, Harry."

"I love you, too," he told her quickly, his heart hammering in his chest when she turned away from him to board the train with the other passengers. She was walking away, not looking back. Harry started to panic as she climbed onto the train.

"Don't get on the train!"

"You're the one leaving," she sobbed, her voice bitter.

But that didn't make sense. She was the one getting on the train.

"But wait," he begged her desperately, grasping into air when he tried to grab her and pull her back to him. The train door slammed shut, blocking his view of her. He had a terrible feeling in his stomach that he was about to lose the most important person in the world.

"NO!" He shouted as the train lurched forward and chugged out of the station. Harry tried to run after it, shouting for the conductor to stop, but it was too late. She was gone. Turning around to the empty platform, he spotted a large trunk left behind. When he got closer, he realized it was the same stupid trunk that had nearly broken his foot.

He stared at the crest on the trunk—a coat of arms, divided into sections with four animals, with a different colour per section. A strangled cry escaped him and he kicked the trunk as hard as he could, managing to send it flying several feet, despite its earlier weight. The pain of losing her was unbearable. It was so bad that he felt as if part of him had been ripped from his chest, leaving him empty and cold. Harry wheeled around, furious at himself that he'd let her go. He had to get her back. He had to find her.

The problem was that there was no one left to tell him where the train was going; no one to help him find her again. His eyes moved around the platform, and at last, fell on a large sign above the wall, indicating the platform number.

Platform 9 ¾

Harry jolted awake and stared up at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his chest. The pain from his dream had left him feeling incredibly anxious. He leapt out of bed, nearly tumbling to the ground in a tangle of blankets. He went over to his briefcase and dug through it until he found his notepad and a pen. He forced himself to breathe and to relax, but his mind was running at a million miles per minute.

He didn't want to forget anything about this dream—it was all important, he knew that much. And for the first time in four years, Harry was sure that he'd remembered something about his past.

Something that involved Platform 9 ¾.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: London**

Harry returned to work that morning and as tired as he felt, he was too excited to let exhaustion bring down his good mood. After the dream, he'd spent the rest of the night dwelling on each and every detail, thrilled beyond words that finally, _finally _he was remembering. Sam had come home late last night when Harry was half-asleep so he had yet to tell her. She was still asleep when Harry got up, but Harry managed to resist the urge to wake her up and tell her everything.

Harry arrived at work extra early to give himself time to do some research on what he'd dreamt. As a journalist, he had access to databases and knew people with connections that might be able to help him track down that particular train station, or maybe even the red-haired girl.

The following things he was absolutely sure about: Harry used to visit that train station frequently and always took platform number nine and three-quarters. Harry also knew that the pretty red-headed girl was a girlfriend at some point in his past and judging by how emotionally charged the dream was, he guessed that it was a very serious relationship. Lastly, the coat of arms had a lion, a badger, a bird and a snake, and it was red, yellow, blue and green. He knew that this symbol was the symbol of some school, likely the one he'd attended.

Logging onto his computer, Harry started his search with a list of train stations in the United Kingdom. He was sure that this train station was located in the U.K. if only for the reason that the red-headed girl was also British. Harry looked at the list of train stations and narrowed it down to the five major railways in the U.K., largely based on a gut feeling which ones were the most likely.

From this list, researching pictures and information on each of the stations. He poured through what felt like hundreds of pictures until finally, he stopped at one image of King's Cross that came up in his browser search of someone standing outside platform twelve. Harry stared at the image on the screen. Something about the brick wall and the style of the platform sign was what stopped him. It was identical to the walls and platform sign in his dream!

"King's Cross station," he murmured, hoping that hearing the name might do something for his memory. "King's Cross. London."

Nothing.

"King's Cross, platform nine and three-quarters," he said after a minute, still staring at the image.

Yes, he was almost positive that he had the right station. King's Cross station in London. London, England, which was one hell of a trip from New York. Pleased with his efforts, Harry turned to look at station blueprints. The place was huge and clearly a big deal, just like Grand Central Station. As Harry looked at the track numbers, his heart began to sink as he realized the obvious flaw in King's Cross being the station he was looking for: no train station in the world divided their platforms into fourths.

Despite this little snag, Harry considered his work definite progress. Nothing else mattered except getting to London as soon as possible. Perhaps King's Cross station had a platform number 9 ¾ because it was a fun quirk, or perhaps a modernist design element? Maybe even an error in construction, but they kept the number because it was a good story for tourists? Everyone loved a good selling point for tourists…

Regardless of the reason, something told Harry that he needed to go now and keep pushing his mind to remember while he was having some luck. Therefore, he got up from his desk and went right into his boss's office to tell him he was taking a trip to London. At this point, he didn't care if they fired him for taking this impromptu trip. Harry always felt that he had two priorities in his life: Sam and getting his memories back. Work, unfortunately, didn't qualify in the grand scheme of things.

After fifteen minutes and one long argument with the Editor-in-Chief, Harry had submitted his two weeks notice and promised to write one final article because to fill the hole in layout that his quitting had caused. Harry tried to be nice by offering to write two articles, but the editor rudely refused and told him that he wasn't going to print Harry's byline anymore than absolutely necessary.

As Harry left the office, he supposed he should be upset or anxious about losing his only source of income to go on a wild goose chase, but he wasn't. Getting in a cab that would take him home, Harry realized that the person he was nervous to tell about the trip wasn't his boss.

"You did _what_?"

Hearing the news, Sam slopped coffee all over the kitchen table when Harry had told her about his dream and what he was going to do. She stared at him in horror, her hair a tangled mess and still in her pajamas.

"I quit," he repeated calmly. "I would have been fired anyway. I have no idea if I'll be gone for a few days or a few weeks. I just know that I have to do this while I'm remembering stuff."

Sam got up to get paper towel and as she mopped up the puddle of coffee, Harry could tell she was processing and thinking up a counter-argument. Finally, she threw the paper towel on the table.

"Harry, you can't just drop everything in your life because of a dream. How do you know that what you saw just wasn't your imagination? A plane ticket to London isn't cheap! Don't you think you should be _sure _about what you remembered before you get on the plane?"

Harry thought about this for a long moment before he shrugged, unable to really explain why he was already sure. "It wasn't just a dream… I really can't explain it any better than that. It's just a feeling I get, Sam. I know I need to go to London and to King's Cross station. If I can find platform 9 ¾, then maybe I can—"

Sam's jaw dropped. "Whoa," she cut him off, her face turning white. "Have you lost your fucking mind? Platform 9 ¾? You're giving everything up without thinking! Harry, think about this!"

"Sam, I have thought about it. I know it sounds crazy, but something in my mind recognizes that number. It's important! When I was at Grand Central Station with Andrew, I thought there was something familiar about the number nine platform sign. Now I know why!"

"You're going to spend thousands of dollars on this trip and you're going without a plan, without getting organized first. Without thinking about anyone besides yourself. Damn it, Harry, we both have to pay the rent to afford this place!"

"Sam, we'll be fine. I'll only use my own money for this trip. I'm not going forever, just for a little while."

Sam shook her head, still angry. Harry felt his own anger flaring up as he watched her clean the table. He knew that Sam had every right to be upset and that he probably should have talked to her first, maybe even asked her to go with him, but the damage had already been done.

"Do you want to go with me?" Harry asked, half-hoping she'd say yes and end this argument between them.

Sam looked at him with a hurt look. "Harry, you know I just can't drop everything. I've got work and…" she broke off sadly. "Harry, I want to support you and I want you to remember and be able to live your life, but it's really hard for me when you get like this. You obsess and you don't think about my feelings."

Obsess? That was a little strong. "I know, I'm sorry," he replied dully, not knowing what else to say that wouldn't start a fight.

"I just wish that you could be happier with life with me. It's been four years… and there's a part of you that won't accept what happened and try to live."

"Wouldn't you want to figure out who you are? Would you be able to accept who you are, when you have no idea who that is."

Sam went to him and placed her hands on his cheeks, her eyes full of tears. "No… but I might consider that there's a possibility that you may never remember. I may try to move past it. If I couldn't have my old life, I'd try and be happy and build a new life for myself. I just worry that you're stuck… and if you're stuck in the past, I worry you'll never be able to really have a future."

She kissed him then, a chaste kiss that lasted only a few seconds. When it ended, she turned away from him and walked from the room. Harry watched her go, feeling guilty, confused, and still a little irritated that she didn't understand. Knowing that Sam would need some time alone, Harry went into his study to call the airlines. He had to go to London—with or without Sam and her support.

Harry managed to book an overnight flight to London today, for a ridiculous cost that he already decided he wasn't going to tell Sam about, or worry over it. Harry hurriedly packed a suitcase while Sam watched, sitting on the bed with red eyes, like she'd been crying.

"What good will rushing off to London do when you have no idea where you're going or the next step to take? Why don't you put this off for a few weeks and I can help you! We can do this properly and find all the answers you're looking for."

Harry glanced back at her, not slowing down on his way to the bedroom to pack. Sam followed him, right on his heels. "I can help you track this girl from your dream down. A friend of mine works for the cops—I bet I could convince him to help you find her and whatever school you went to. Or we can pay for a private detective! Harry, these are solutions to your problem, not rushing out of here without a plan or a lead."

Harry sighed heavily, hurriedly throwing several shirts into the bag. "Sam, I've got to do this."

"Why?" Sam demanded, suddenly much angrier. "Why do you have to do this? Why now? Why like this? What's going on?"

Why was she getting so defensive? It wasn't like this trip was planned to get back at her for working late or for being busy all the time.

"Because I don't know who I am or what I'm doing with my life!" Harry stopped packing and turned to look at her, determined to make her understand. "Because I need to know, and I need to work it out for myself. We could hire a private investigator and he could tell me everything I want to know, but unless I actually remember, that knowledge is useless. It's not just finding out the information I need. It's going to London and being surrounded by places and people who will trigger those memories. I can't do that in New York!""

He paused to calm himself. He hated that he had to convince the person he loved to let him do this. Shouldn't she support this? Why couldn't she understand that this was bigger than her stupid insecurities? He returned to packing his things, feeling bitter that as much as he loved Sam, she was really being unfair.

"Harry, I don't want to lose you," she suddenly sobbed, making him stop in his tracks. "In case you haven't noticed, we haven't been doing so well lately."

Harry looked at her evenly. Of course he noticed! They barely had sex anymore, they both worked late and even when they did spend time together, most of it was spent in the presence of other people.

Harry exhaled slowly. He needed to explain himself and communicate—that's what Sam was always saying…

"Part of that is because I'm not happy with myself—it's got nothing to do with you. Sam, I love you, but I've got to do this."

"I love you, too," she whispered miserably. "It's why I want you to stay. If you leave, you won't come back."

"I will come back," he told her, although after hearing his own words, he now wasn't sure if they were true.

What if while he was on this trip, he found out he had a whole life waiting for him? Could he come back and be the person he was in New York knowing he was leaving behind a life he'd had for much longer? Could he be both the Harry he used to be and the Harry he was now? And would he still want to be with Sam if he had a family in London? Parents and siblings and cousins... people who knew him and loved him…

Finished packing, Harry zipped up his suitcase and then went to Sam. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. Harry rubbed her back reassuringly and breathed in the smell of her perfume, memorizing the feel of her in his arms and how she smelled. It would give him something concrete to hold onto if and when he didn't find anything. That's what Sam was for him: something real, someone to rely on, someone he needed.

"Harry, I'm sorry…" she murmured.

"I'm sorry, too."

Harry knew that he was lucky to have found Sam, someone who had spent four years sticking by him, even through rough times like these. She had gone with him to specialists, many doctors, worked with him on the exercises they gave him, and always listened to him when he felt he'd never know who he was.

He wished that she could understand whatever part of him wanted to be uncovered. And more than that, he hoped that if he failed, she would be willing to let him fix this. If this trip didn't provide him with the answers he wanted, then he would move on, like she wanted. And hopefully then, their relationship would be better.

She pulled back slowly, avoiding his eyes as she stepped back. Harry's heart faltered to see the misery in her glassy eyes. Wanting to make that go away, Harry kissed her deeply. He ran his fingers through her soft hair and then slid his hands down her sides and around her waist, hoping to remind them both that there was still passion, there was still love, and something worth fighting for.

"I love you," he said solemnly, hoping she believed him. "I know I don't always show it, but I do. I need you in my life, Samantha Reeve." He let her go and she sank down on the bed with a brave smile.

Within the hour, Harry was ready to leave. Sam walked Harry out to a taxi and kissed him goodbye at the car. As the taxi drove away, Harry looked back to see Sam standing on the curb, hugging herself tightly. He wasn't sure because his eyesight wasn't perfect, even with glasses, but he was sure that he could see on her face the look of someone who knew it was over.

The flight from New York to London took nearly eight hours, but when the plane finally touched down, it was nearly noon. Harry had managed to book a decently priced hotel room in London. It was far from a five-star accommodation, but having made this trip so suddenly, Harry knew he couldn't be picky.

Harry checked in, tossed his things on the bed, took a quick shower and then had a hurried lunch in the hotel restaurant. Harry didn't want to give the jet lag a chance to kick in, so he wanted to spend as little time as possible in the hotel. Harry got directions from the concierge to King's Cross train station and left the hotel with hope in his heart. With the notes he'd made both of his dream and his research, pocket, as well as his notepad and pen, Harry entered the station.

Thankfully, the station was full of tourists so no one questioned this strange man wandering around with a notepad, pausing every few minutes to stop and stare. Harry was careful to look at everything, making sure that he covered every inch of the station. He moved slowly, not wanting to miss anything that might trigger his memory. However, his slow progress often got in the way of commuters and other tourists.

Harry tried his best to ignore their disgruntled expressions and focus. His doctor told him that patients often found that they had better luck triggering memories when they were relaxed. Harry had been told to breathe and try not to overthink or get frustrated while he looked at an object or a person. Therefore, Harry stood calmly in front of the arrivals and departures board for several minutes, trying to block out the noise of the world. He went to each platform and stared at the numbers and at the trains themselves. He sat down on several benches and looked around. He bought really foul-tasting coffee from a coffee stand and walked in and out of the station's entrances. He stood between platforms nine and ten, feeling stupid he'd even thought that a platform called 9 ¾ could ever exist. He stared at the bricks, at the tracks, at the luggage trolleys, and at the ceiling.

Nothing.

No sense of familiarity. No memories. No déjà vu.

Harry spent two hours at King's Cross and accomplished absolutely nothing. He spent his last ten minutes sitting by the arrivals and departures board, willing something to come to him or for someone to recognize him, but nothing happened. No one stared, no one stopped, no one asked if he was Harry Potter, no teenage girls asked for his autograph.

Feeling disheartened, grumpy and more tired than he could ever remember feeling (which probably wasn't saying much, considering how much of his life he could remember), Harry decided he should go back to his hotel and sleep before figuring out what to do next.

He had to admit that this was not a good first day of searching. Worst of all, as he was leaving, a kid nearly took him out with a loaded luggage trolley. The metal trolley slammed into his shins and made him stumble. The kid looked mortified as he stared up at Harry, his face a bright red as he cowered behind the handle bar.

"Oops," the kid whispered.

"JEREMY!" Shouted a furious man who must have been the boy's father. The man hurried over and grabbed a hold of the trolley's handle. "What were you thinking? Did you apologize?"

Aside from aching shins, Harry wasn't really hurt. More than anything else, he was just startled to see a large metal cart come flying at him.

"I'm s-so sorry, sir!" The boy stammered. "L-lost control of the trolley!"

"Going too fast, you silly boy," the father scolded his son, clearly embarrassed. He held out his hand to Harry. "I'm so sorry. He's a bit excited—never been on a train before! I do hope you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry reassured him. "Don't worry about it."

The father looked relieved. "'Lost control of the trolley,'" he grumbled. "Lost control of your senses." He glanced at Harry again. "Sorry again." And with that, he took control of the trolley and pushed it for his son. Harry watched them go, feeling sorry for the poor kid. At least he wasn't the only one in the world having a rotten day…

Harry imagined that it was easy to lose control of a fully-loaded trolley like that. Once you got running, it was probably impossible to stop. Harry supposed it was lucky the trolley hit him and not an angry commuter, or worse, another solid object, which might cause the boy to hurt himself.

As bad as this outing was, Harry wasn't ready to give up. After napping a few hours at his hotel, he set out again at six o'clock, this time venturing into the heart of London. He didn't have plans to visit any particular place, but he figured some sightseeing might take his mind off his disappointing afternoon and bruised shins.

London was a beautiful city and so different from New York. Harry wondered about living here and what that must have been like. He wondered if he was fluent in British slang and if he was good at navigating London's complicated subway lines.

As much as he liked the excitement, energy and rush of New York, London was a totally different experience in itself. As he walked through the streets, he couldn't help but feel what he thought was contentment. While he was pretty sure this feeling was just the result of touring a beautiful city, he hoped that there was a part of his sub-conscious that recognized this place as his home.

Harry had a late dinner and sat down to write his last assignment for work. It was an in-depth profile on a NBA baseball player he'd interviewed a few weeks back. As Harry wrote, he sipped tea and slowly worked his way through a slice of blueberry pie. He was so deep in concentration that he didn't notice the two women a table over who were staring at him.

Harry was reading over what he'd written so far when the waitress came to collect his dishes and left him with the bill. Shortly after the waitress left, an elderly woman rose from that table and came over. Harry looked up, startled to find a petite, hunched-over, old lady standing over him.

"I know who you are," she said, sounding a little awe-struck.

Harry looked up, a little startled to find a woman standing so close to him and staring at him wide-eyed. The old woman's younger companion came over and placed her hand on the older woman's shoulder.

"Mother, don't bother him," she whispered. "Come on, let's go."

"But Lucy…" the older woman protested, shrugging her daughter's hand off of her. She pointed a wrinkled finger at Harry. "I thought you'd gone for good. Didn't blame you for staying away. Then again, no one can really blame you if you lost all your marbles. You went through a lot."

"Mother!" Pleaded Lucy, managing to drag her mother a few feet away from Harry. "Please."

Harry's mind was reeling as he replayed what the woman said. It didn't sound good, but he didn't care. "You know who I am?" Harry asked hopefully.

The older woman looked miffed that he'd asked that. "Course I do. You think I wouldn't recognize Harry Potter? I see your name in the paper time to time. I'm not the crazy old bat my daughter thinks I am."

Harry's heart sank. His articles… she knew he was an established journalist, not anything about his past. "Oh."

"Mother, don't talk to him," repeated the daughter irritably. "Don't you remember what he's done? Lousy dead-beat."

"Lucy," the old lady scolded disapprovingly.

Harry stared at the two women, confused. Hope flickered again in his chest at the insult made no sense for a New York sports journalist. "Dead-beat? What are you talking about?"

The younger woman looked incredulous. Harry waited, barely able to contain himself. They knew something he didn't and Harry was determined to find out what they knew, no matter how terrible it was.

The younger woman's expression turned cruel. She laughed coldly and urged her mother into a seat. "Your past is no secret. The paper printed everything… it was all anyone could talk about. Harry Potter, everyone's hero, the "chosen one," was the world's biggest disappointment. You should be ashamed of yourself coming back here."

"Lucy, I wish you wouldn't…" the old woman said sadly.

Chosen one? Harry's mouth went dry to hear the hatred and disapproval in Lucy's voice. "What are you talking about? How did I disappoint anyone?"

Lucy made a noise of disgust. "You should know. It's been four years, but the world still remembers, Harry Potter."

Harry rose from his seat, shaking slightly with anger. He had no idea what Lucy meant, but he knew he didn't want to listen anymore. He left the money for the bill, took his things, and left. There was so much anger and disapproval in Lucy's voice that Harry was worried there was something dark about his past.

"You could still fix it, dear," the old lady called to Harry before he left. "I'm sure it's not as bad as what they said."

Harry kept going, not bothering to stop. Fix it? Fix what? And what had he done that was so bad the papers had printed it? Was he a criminal? Was he a morally corrupt person? "The world remembers…" Remembers what? Whatever he had done, it was clearly enough to become a public scandal. Harry thought back to the days he'd joked about being famous; never had he worried about being infamous.

One part of him wanted to know what he'd done, but the other part didn't want the truth. This was not the truth he had come here to uncover. Harry had imagined friends and family who would be thrilled to see him. He pictured a life waiting for him, not bad press and a shameful reputation.

Harry was embarrassed, ashamed and angry with himself all at once. As he hurried down the street, he took random turns whenever he got tired of one direction too long. He wanted to get away, to find sanctuary in a city that apparently hated him. Should he go home? Would he really be happier knowing the truth, if it would haunt him forever?

Why did he deserve this? What sort of luck gave him a life with no memory of his past? Or was this actually a blessing? Was not remembering the only good luck he had…

Harry felt his anger begin to spiral out of his control, like he always did when he got too frustrated with his missing memories. It was like being trapped in the dark, with no way to turn on the light. There was no leaving, no sense of any direction, and no sense of what was keeping him there.

Breathing heavily, Harry stormed down the street, wracking the part of his brain that was a blanket of nothing. Did he really want to know the person he once was, if this person was gone anyway? Did he really want to know about who he used to be, when he was a better person now? Was the truth worth the pain?

No, he should just get on a plane and go home to Sam. He should live a happy life and stick to what he knew. It was safer. It would guarantee that he would be happy. He could marry Sam, start a family and have new memories. He would never have to know what terrible thing he'd done to offend society or hurt others…

He should have been happy with what life had given him; he should have been content to have his second chance at life. Not knowing was a lot safer than having to hear why he was a terrible person up until a head injury changed him. Judging by Lucy's reaction, it didn't look like anyone really wanted to hear a reason.

Having put a lot of distance between where he was now and the café, he slowed his pace and looked around, trying to focus on his surroundings. Which way was his hotel? He looked up and down the street, trying to understand where the hell he was, but everything looked the same. Shops lined both sides of the street and people milled around him, oblivious to his pain, as they enjoyed their Thursday night.

Harry kept walking, trying to find something that was interesting; something to distract him from the blinding anger and frustration until he could find the entrance to the subway.

Toy shops, candy shops, pubs, grocery stores, cinemas, hamburger bars…

Harry slowed as he stared down the street of shops, sensing something. He knew this place…

Between a bookstore and a record shop, was a dingy-looking entrance to a pub. Compared to the shops around it, the pub looked much older and very much out of place. Harry stopped several feet away and stared at the weathered sign above the door, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he intuitively knew he had come somewhere important.

_The Leaky Cauldron_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Meeting Harry Potter**

Harry stared at the battered old sign for a long time, his anger fizzling out as the seconds ticked by. His eyes moved to the old wooden door, watching as the other shoppers hurried past it, their eyes sliding from the bookstore to the record shop without noticing it. Could it be possible that he was only one who could see the Leaky Cauldron?

Putting his fear aside that he might have gone crazy, he allowed himself to feel hope. Standing in front of the first landmark that actually made sense gave Harry a renewed sense of calm. He remembered this building. Harry took another step toward the door, hesitating, in spite of the hope he now felt. He still had a choice to make. He could leave now and choose to live the life he knew, or he could walk through the door and face his past. Harry didn't know what he did four years ago, but as he stared at the door, he suddenly felt a sudden determination to right whatever wrong had been done. Whatever thing he had done, that man was gone. All that was left was someone who wanted to be with his family and friends; someone who wanted to live the life he was supposed to; someone who was willing to fix it, if they'd let him.

And more than what he wanted to do, Harry needed to know who or what was inside the Leaky Cauldron. He needed to know who he was. Harry had been a slave to his blank slate of a mind for so long that the sudden appearance of a door out of the darkness was tempting.

The longer he stood there, the stupider it seemed to turn around and go back to the hotel. He had no idea how he'd gotten to this part of London. What if he changed his mind later and couldn't find this place again?

Someone pushed past him, angrily mumbling about Harry being an idiot, blocking the sideway.

Yeah, he was being stupid. He had to go inside.

Taking a breath, Harry walked determinedly to the door of the pub, bracing himself as he opened it and stepped inside. What Harry hadn't been expecting, was to walk into a medieval-looking building that was lit only by candles and lanterns. It was dimly lit, and filled with old wooden tables and chairs. The biggest fireplace he'd ever seen cracked merrily on the far side of the room, surrounded by lumpy, but welcoming chairs with tall backs and fluffy pillows. The room smelled of wood, liqueur and of a good home-cooked meal.

Closing the door behind him, Harry peered around the room at the various empty tables, the bar, the wooden staircase leading upstairs, and up to the high vaulted ceilings. What was stranger than the room, was the people inside it. They were all dressed in different robes and did not look like the average Brit on the street outside.

Feeling nervous and a bit out of place, he moved forward a few steps, unsure of what to do now. People of various ages were sitting at the tables around the room. Some drank from old-fashioned goblets, some from metal tankards, and some ate funny-looking food. Two older men were smoking from pipes and playing cards, glaring at each other in silence across the table. A group of young people sat around one table, chattering loudly and laughing. A scary-looking woman wrapped up in a green shawl sat alone at the bar, muttering to herself and waving her hand over a bowl of steaming liquid.

Harry debated going to the bar to order a beer so he could sit and figure out his next move, but before he could do that, someone gasped loudly and dropped their goblet. The contents of the clay goblet flew everywhere and silence fell over the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone in the room was staring at him in shock.

Harry's eyes flew to the old man who had dropped his goblet. He was staring at Harry, pointing a shaking finger at him in disbelief.

"My god," the man croaked. "I don't believe it. Harry Potter is back!"

Harry was frozen in the center of the pub, his face heating up at all the attention. In the stunned silence, Harry wondered if he should leave before they tried to take revenge on him for whatever crime he committed, or if he should try and explain the situation. Would these strange people listen to him? Or would they kill him and leave his body in a dumpster out back? This was a weird place… it sort of resembled an old bar in a western movie he'd once seen. He glanced at the scary-looking woman in the green shawl, deciding that if anyone was likely to try something funny, it was her.

"Harry?!"

A new voice startled Harry from his panicked thoughts. Harry was relieved to find someone who looked about his age approaching him, looking surprised, but not at all angry. In fact, he kind of looked happy to see him.

Harry moved toward him, sure that this person was trustworthy. "Yes?"

When Harry didn't react further, the man looked surprised. He held out his hand with a bemused expression. Harry shook it, hoping that this might be the moment when someone would tell him what the hell it was he did four years ago.

"What, you don't remember me? Dean Thomas… we went to school together?"

Harry stared at Dean blankly, wishing that something would click in his head, but nothing did. Dean Thomas was a complete stranger to him, just like everyone and everything else. Still, Dean made him feel far more at ease than these other people. He gave the woman in the green shawl another nervous glance, glad to see that she hadn't moved closer to him.

In the silence, Dean stared at Harry in amazement for several long seconds. Finally, Dean awkwardly gestured that Harry should follow him, and he walked quickly toward the staircase in the back. Harry hesitated, debating whether or not to follow Dean, but when he realized he'd have to stay in this tense room, he hurried after him.

Dean led him up several stairs and then down a long hallway in silence. He opened a door—room 12—and then gave Harry a friendly push inside, grinning nervously. The moment Harry was inside, Dean followed and shut the door, pulling out a thin stick of wood from his pocket and waving it wordlessly.

"Blimey, this is weird. It's good to see you," Dean said in wonder, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why don't you recognize me, mate? Where have you been?"

Harry stared at Dean, unable to believe his luck. Had he actually run into a friend from his past? Deciding he wanted to clear things up right away so they could get to what Harry really wanted to talk about, Harry hurriedly explained himself.

"I don't remember anything. Four years ago, I woke up in a hospital in New York City. Recently, I've had weird dreams that led me back to London, hopefully to figure out who I am and what the hell I did to make everyone hate me so much. I don't remember who I am."

Dean stared at Harry with wide-eyes. After nearly a minute, Dean crossed the room and sat down on the rickety chair in the corner. He gestured for Harry to sit on the bed, but he still didn't say anything. The silence stretched on, but Harry wasn't sure what to say.

Uncomfortable, Harry quickly looked around the small room, wondering why on earth anyone would ever pay to stay at this dingy little place. The room had three lanterns and many candles, but no mini-fridge or any other appliances that would indicate electricity existed in the Leaky Cauldron. Only one of the lanterns was lit and it cast a warm glow about the room.

"There's a lot to tell you," Dean finally said, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I can't believe this…"

One corner of Harry's mouth pulled up in an awkward grin. "This is weird for me… I can't imagine what it must be like for you. Some people have had pretty negative reactions to seeing me…"

At the mention of people having negative reactions, Dean's expression became troubled. "You really don't remember anything? Not even about Hogwarts or magic or anything?"

Harry was sure that he must have heard Dean wrong. "Magic?"

"I'll tell you anything and everything you want to know, but I need you to promise that you'll listen to me and try to remember that everything I'm saying is true. I wouldn't lie to you." Dean paused and then added, "And I came from a non-magical background, so I know how much you're going to want to deny all of this."

Harry hesitated, suddenly feeling very nervous again. Magic? Dean wanted to tell him about magic? He bought a two-thousand dollar plane ticket to talk about magic?

Dean took a moment to collect himself before he took out the thin stick of wood again and held it out in the palm of his hand. Harry looked at the stick with suspicion and disdain, thinking that this was all a little too much.

"Harry, you're a wizard—everyone in this pub is a witch or wizard. Magic is real and there's magical populations living in secret around the world. You are a very powerful wizard—and the one who destroyed the most evil wizard of all time. You defeated him nine years ago in a final battle at Hogwarts."

Harry stared at Dean, unable to make out even a noise of acknowledgment that he'd heard this information. Fortunately, Dean had a lot more to tell him, so he didn't need to form a response. Harry sat and listened as Dean started from the beginning, telling the story of how Harry's parents had been murdered by a man named Voldemort, and how Harry had been raised by his non-magical Aunt and Uncle. Dean told him they'd met at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that they'd roomed together in a dormitory for six years. He told Harry that his two best friends were named Ron and Hermione, and that they had left school with Harry to find a way to kill Voldemort in their seventh year.

"I killed someone?" Harry finally asked, barely managing to croak out the words. Nausea replaced disbelief as he tried to remember something so scarring and traumatic. Harry had qualms about killing mice in his building. How could it possibly be true that he'd killed someone?

Dean looked sympathetically at Harry, hesitating on how to best explain this. "It was destined in a prophecy that it had to be you or him- good or evil. You and our headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, worked together to defeat him. It's complicated, but he tried to make himself immortal and you and Dumbledore made him human again so that he could be killed. You saved us all…"

So he was a criminal. A murderer. That, or some tragic hero who had saved the world. Right now, that sort of responsibility made him feel worse than being considered a criminal. "I think I need some air."

"Harry, wait," Dean said sharply, making him stop. "Please sit down and let me finish. There's still more I need to tell you. Just please… relax."

"Relax?" Harry nearly shouted. His heart was pounding in his chest as he tried to process all of this information; information about his life, none of which he could remember anything about. "How can I relax? I defeated an evil wizard by magic, because I'm a wizard, too. I'm an orphan. I went to a school to study magic. How is any of this real? I don't know how to do magic—I don't know how to be this person. He's not me! I can't win a war and I don't remember school, or you, or my friends…"

"As hard as it may be to believe, you were happy. You're life wasn't bad," Dean replied patiently. "Sure, you were surrounded by darkness, but you faced it all with bravery and strength. You had good people in your life who got you through."

Dean sounded so sure that Harry was able to force his emotions under a little more control. Turning away from the part of him that wanted to have an anxiety attack, he forced himself to breathe. He thought about the red-headed girl from his dreams and wondered if Dean knew who she was. Thinking about her and the feelings that he'd had around her made it easier for him to calm down and breathe.

"You had lots of friends! And while you didn't have the best home life, you were happy at school. Even after all the bad things you had to go through, you still found happiness." As he said this, Dean seemed to grow more uncomfortable. He hesitated for a moment and then said, "After Voldemort was defeated, you got back together with Ginny Weasley—you two dated in our sixth-year at school. You two were in love—perfect for each other."

Harry hoped that this Ginny Weasley was the girl from his dreams. "Red hair? Brown eyes? Really pretty?"

Dean nodded, looking surprised. "You remember Ginny?"

"I had a dream about her at a train station… it was the same dream that led me to London."

"Okay, well… you and Ginny… you got back together after the war."

Warmth trickled over the coldness in his chest to hear that the red-headed girl was real and that she was very important to him. No wonder he had been so upset when she'd left him in the dream. This Ginny had clearly been a big part of his life and his mind wanted him to remember her.

Dean smiled funnily before adding, "And you married her not long after that. The press went nuts, but I think that was the only day you didn't care about the pictures and the reporters..."

Harry stared at Dean, trying to get his tongue to form the words he never expected to hear. The warmth began to fade as quickly as it had come. Harry had come here to find his family, but he hadn't ever considered he might find more than parents, siblings and relatives. He was only twenty-six years old—most of his friends in New York weren't even close to getting married at his age. "I married her? I'm married?"

He glanced down at his bare ring finger, half-expecting to suddenly find a wedding band there. But, of course, there was nothing. Not even a tan line of a ring that might confirm that he had indeed gotten married.

The nausea came back as he thought about Sam, and about the last four years with her. He loved Sam; she was all he'd known. And now, he learned that their entire relationship was wrong. He'd had an intimate relationship and moved in with a woman who was not his wife.

Dean cleared his throat, watching him carefully. "Harry… you also have a son."

Harry sat back down on the bed— or rather, his legs gave out and he had no choice but to sit. He tried several times to respond, but every time he tried, his tongue just wouldn't work.

He was married and he was a father. Married, with a son he didn't know. Married, with a son who probably didn't remember him. Or worse, he was married, with a son who hated his father for abandoning him.

Dean reached over and patted his knee in an attempt to reassure him. Harry cleared his throat and finally managed to ask, "Where are they? Where can I find them?"

"They live in a very small wizarding town—it's about the equivalent of a three-hour drive from here. They moved out of your house shortly after you left. James is four, I think."

Somehow hearing his son's name made it that much more real. The name didn't stir any significance in his mind, but it did bring forth very strong feelings for a son he had never met. "James?"

"Yeah, he's a cute kid. Looks like you and everything."

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands for several long moments. Dean sat quietly, waiting for him to speak again. In the small room, Harry felt trapped, among many negative things he was thinking about himself. He had left a lot of things behind, namely a wife and son. The worst part of it all was that he couldn't think of a reason why he'd choose to leave his family. Was this his great crime? Had being a hero for the wizarding world made his actions that much more terrible?

"But why did I leave? How did I end up in New York with no memory of any of this? I know I don't remember who I am, but I know I would never, ever walk out on my wife and kid. If I knew I had…" he broke off, thinking about Sam again. Sam was the reason he had been to live a relatively normal life. Now what was he supposed to do? Was the right thing to call her up right now and end it with her?

Dean was looking at him with a look of deep sympathy. "No one really knows why you left. The only person who could probably tell you is Ginny—she was the last person to see you."

Harry wanted so badly to see Ginny and meet his kid, but he didn't think he could do it right now. Harry wanted to plan what he was going to say and prepare himself for what would no doubt be a stressful and emotional moment for them all. As Harry fought the urge to tear out of here in search of his wife and son, the part that kept him here was wishing for a little time to accept all this. People stared at him, not only because he was Harry Potter and had performed a great act of heroism at age seventeen, but maybe because he'd left his wife and kid apparently for no reason. He'd left the wizarding world and everyone had thought he'd turned his back on magic, his wife and his own child.

"I should go back to my hotel," Harry finally said heavily. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking with nerves. "I need to… think."

"I could go ask the barman if there's a room here for you. I'll have your stuff brought over… it might be safer if you stay here. Everyone in that bar downstairs saw you— if you leave, the press will find you. The wizarding world will know by tomorrow morning that you're back. The press won't be leaving you alone for a while… At least here, there's real security. Tom will make sure you're safe."

Harry was about to argue and tell him he was leaving, but thought better of it. As much as he wanted to get out and go back to the normal world for a little while, he really didn't want to walk past everyone downstairs again. And having worked for a major newspaper himself, he knew how determined and clever reporters could be. If Dean thought he would be safer here, than he probably would be.

"Alright," Harry agreed reluctantly. "Thanks Dean. For everything."

Dean made to leave, but then a thought occurred to him and he pulled out his wand again. He held it out to Harry, grinning slightly.

"You'll have to get your own back, but here… see if you can do anything with this. Try something easy like 'lumos.'"

Harry hesitantly (and very carefully) took the wand from Dean, frowning at the thin wood. It felt… wrong in his hands. He also felt sort of stupid holding what was supposed to be a real magic wand.

"Lumos?"

Dean chuckled sadly and clapped him on the back. "Yeah. Give it a little wave when you say it. I'll be right back."

After Dean left, Harry went to the window that overlooked the street full of normal people, living their normal, uncomplicated lives. He glared down at all of them enviously, wondering who up in heaven or here on earth had decided that he should be ripped from everything and everyone he loved. Now he was here, in a building without electricity, feeling as if he had nothing in the world but questions.

Holding the wand, with thoughts of magic, of this world, of being a celebrity, a parent, and a husband, swirling around his head, Harry suddenly felt as if he had no identity. Earlier today, he'd at least known who he was for the last four years. But now… now he was neither the guy from New York, looking for answers, nor the man Dean claimed he was.

Harry pulled out his phone and stared at the background image: a photo of him and Sam, taken last New Year's Eve. Sam had both her arms around him and looked incredibly happy. It had been a long time since he had seen her smile like that. She was so beautiful with her hair in curls, wearing a pretty red dress. He looked happy too, his arm around Sam and holding a glass of champagne in the other hand. He loved this photo of the two of them, looking happy and in love. That Harry in the picture had a normal, easy and happy life with his girlfriend.

Did he even exist anymore? Sam and him never looked like that anymore…

Harry could admit that their relationship wasn't in the best shape these days, but that didn't mean he wanted to give her up. Sam was the only future he ever knew. Tears burned in his eyes and he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

How the hell was he supposed to fit into a life he knew nothing about anything. Dean told Harry that he was a powerful wizard, well right now, Harry felt like the world's weakest and most useless man. He felt like a loser and a traitor. He wasn't the person Dean had described, and he was sure that he could never rise up to be that person, even if he did get his memories back. Dean made it sound like he was a hero, someone who had been ready to die for the good of the world at age seventeen.

He had a wife and a kid and had let them both down. He had a girlfriend back home that he loved and who loved him. He had friends here and friends there; a past here, but a future there. He had lives both here with Ginny and James, and a life back in New York with Sam.

Harry had come here to find answers and find the truth. He'd come on this trip to be happy and to find out who he really was. While he was grateful that he wasn't a criminal, he wasn't so sure that this truth was what he wanted.

Then again, what had he wanted? What had he expected to find? Harry couldn't even remember what it was he wanted out of this trip anymore. He supposed he'd expected these answers to be simple and to make him happy. Instead, he felt the differences in his lifestyles would force him to choose. He doubted that magic could be a part of his life if he returned back to New York.

Harry held up the wand and inspected it. The idea that magic was real and that he had great power and a great purpose in life was an attractive one. The more he thought about it and the longer he held the smooth wooden stick in his hand, the more he thought being a wizard made sense.

Harry had the strangest feeling of knowing that this was _not _his wand. He knew it belonged to Dean, but something in his gut wanted a different connection with a different want. Still, holding it between his fingers made him feel as if something had been missing from his hand. He gripped the end, curious at the gentle tingling he felt in his fingertips as he focused and extended his arm out slightly. Doing so felt natural and this gave him confidence.

Harry turned his back to the window and waved it a few times, glad that no one was here to watch the great Harry Potter learn how to use a wand again.

"Lumos," Harry murmured, waving the wand again. When nothing happened, Harry tried it a few more times.

He frowned at the wand, wishing it would work for him. If he could do a bit of magic, maybe it would be easier to believe the things Dean had told him. If he could do magic, maybe he was the powerful wizard, husband, father and friend that he used to be.

"Lumos," he said a little louder, waving the wand a little more dramatically.

Still, nothing happened. Harry sighed and dropped down onto the bed, closing his eyes wearily.

"Lumos," Harry repeated firmly, his eyes still closed as he raised the wand above his head. When his fingers tingled again, he kept his eyes closed, trying to focus on that feeling and hold onto it. Maybe if he focused hard enough, the magic would come back to him.

Harry peeked one eye open, only to sigh in exasperation when the wand still did nothing. Harry set the wand on the bed beside him and opened both his eyes. He inhaled sharply as he realized that something had happened: every lantern and candle in the room was suddenly lit, and filled the room with light.

Harry sat up slowly, peering around in awe. Without looking, he took the wand in his hand again and immediately, his fingers tingled and a feeling of warmth spread through his fingertips and up along the wand, as if it recognized it as a part of him. The wand tip flickered and then, quite suddenly, the whole room was lit by the bright white light shining from the wand itself.

A smile replaced his surprise as he slowly looked around the room and then again at the wand. It was true... everything was true. And if it was true, maybe he wasn't as hopeless as he'd thought.

"Shit…" he breathed, his voice filled with surprise and a little amusement. "Harry, you're a wizard…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The First Reunion **

Harry stayed the night at the Leaky Cauldron, although he had never stayed anywhere where charging his cell phone was not an option. Dean used magic to have his things brought to him, which fascinated Harry, who ended up asking Dean many more questions about magic and about the wizarding world, staying up far later than he normally would have. Much to Harry's disappointment, Dean excused himself to go to bed just after two-thirty in the morning. As much as Harry wished he could keep asking his questions, he told Dean goodnight and thanked him again for all his help.

The moment he was alone, he began to revel in everything he'd been told. He was really excited to hear about his career in the wizarding world: Auror, investigating dark magic and ridding the world of wizard scum. It sounded pretty cool—way better than sports journalist. Harry liked to think that being an Auror made total sense because of his love for crime shows like _CSI_ and _Law & Order._

Despite feeling fairly bad-ass, he wondered if his career had altered his personality at all. He hated a stressful day at the news room, but being an Auror had to be at least ten times more stressful than pressing deadlines and computer crashes. Sam's father was a cop before he retired and the man was very reserved, almost cold because of all the things he'd seen. Sam once confided in him that her dad had had a bad home life, though she never liked to dwell on specifics. It made Harry wonder if his childhood, defeating Voldemort and his career had changed him, too.

Harry took out the notepad he always brought with him (a journalist's habit) and began making notes on the things he now knew for sure. His doctor always encouraged him to write things down and make 'visual clues' to help his brain remember. After writing down as much as he could remember, he added more questions.

Once he was finished, he flipped absent-mindedly through the notebook, his thoughts returning to Sam. He badly wanted to call her and share with her the progress he'd made, but apparently this was a problem. Dean had made it clear that magic was a secret, so Harry would only be able to tell her the gist of his discoveries and twist the truth about the rest.

Not being able to confide in Sam right now wasn't boosting his mood. He thought about how sad and defeated she'd looked as he'd driven away from her. As much as he wanted to call her tomorrow and tell her as much as he could, doing so terrified him. More than his actually having made progress, he was willing to bet that Sam wouldn't take well to learning that he had a wife and son. He could twist the truth to make things legal, but lying by omission seemed much worse.

Hell, _he_ wasn't taking well to learning he had a family.

Harry stared up at the ceiling, his chest aching. He missed Sam—he felt sorry for how little effort he'd put into their relationship over the last year. If he'd known that a trip to London would answer those questions and allow him to start moving on and dealing with the past, he would have treated her better.

As drawn to Ginny as he'd felt in that dream, he knew didn't love her. Maybe part of him remembered that love, but it felt more like he'd loved her ages ago; like it was a pleasant, distant memory.

He knew for certain that he loved Sam. Sam was the one person he could share everything with, but now he had the biggest secrets of all, and he legally wasn't allowed to tell her. Harry made a mental note to ask Dean if wizards ever married non-magical people. Surely there were circumstances when magical people could tell non-magical people about who they really were? Marrying Sam would probably justify telling her the whole truth. And if he got his memories back, marrying Sam was definitely a possibility…

Then again, marrying Sam was not a possibility until he spoke to Ginny. Harry believed in the sanctity of marriage, but he was not the person who had married Ginny Weasley. He was a journalist and a damn good writer. He loved the Rangers and secretly loved Chai lattes. There was no way in hell that he was both the man Ginny married and the man he was today.

Luckily or unluckily, this was not the only issue Harry had to worry about. There was also the question of how the hell he'd ended up in New York in the first place. More worrisome was the fact that by the time he'd woken up in New York, Harry already had an established life. He had everything to prove he'd had a life: a driver's license, a home address, a phone number, a social security number, a passport…

The more he thought about magic, the scarier it was. Some seriously sick psychopath had set out to ruin his life in a way that was extraordinarily detailed and well-executed. Why invest so much time and energy into moving him to New York? Why not just kill him? Not that he wasn't grateful for being alive… but still… somehow, death was far less threatening than the amount of effort that went into this plot. And what if this person was still out there? What if they found out Harry was back in London? Was he in danger?

After thirty minutes of obsessing about this, Harry checked the lock on his door several times before he finally climbed into bed. He glared angrily at the door from the bed, hating that he was a bit paranoid that a madman was going to burst in here at any moment. He hadn't been this jumpy since that time he and Sam had rented that disgusting horror movie—what was it called? The one where the villain chopped everyone up into tiny pieces? He hadn't ever seen that much gore in a film…

Harry wasn't a paranoid person, but clearly this madman was no average criminal. This person had the power to kill him with a wave of a wand; how messed up was that? There was nothing Harry could do if someone tried to use magic against him. Nothing except hope that Dean might come to his rescue…

As the minutes ticked by, sleep finally crept up on him. Exhausted and unable to keep his eyes open, Harry finally convinced himself that he was being pathetic. Rolling over, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to finally sleep.

Harry wasn't sure at what time he'd fallen asleep or how long he slept, but when he woke up the next morning, it wasn't because he was ready. Harry was jolted to consciousness not by the sunlight or soft murmurs of people in the hall, but by the deafening bangs of someone pounding on the door. In a panic, Harry fell out of bed and hit the floor with a loud thud, swearing as he slid sideways off the mattress. He snatched his glasses off the nightstand, his brain wildly concocting scenarios that all ended in his death.

Clearly whoever was on the other side of that door was not here to welcome him back with open arms. Where the hell was hotel security? Didn't wizards get pissed off when some crazy person was banging on doors and waking everyone up? Harry untangled himself from the sheets and rose slowly, praying that Dean's room was near enough that might hear and come over to help.

"Harry? Harry, open this bloody door!"

Harry didn't recognize the male voice that shouted at him through the door, but the fact that this person knew his name made him think this might not be a criminal. He hesitated, really wishing that he could pretend not to be here. Ultimately, Harry knew he would have to open the door before the door fell out of its frame, which, judging by the medieval architecture of this place, would probably be in the next few minutes.

Logic began to replace the terror of being suddenly woken up by someone pounding on the door. Based on all the crime and murder mystery shows he watched, he reckoned that a madman wouldn't make this much noise, wake the entire hotel and tell him to open the door. A criminal would have broken in and escaped before he could be caught. Harry took a few hesitant steps closer to the door, peering around the room for a weapon of sorts, just in case. Of course, there was nothing.

The banging continued. "Harry, I swear, I'll blow this door to fucking pieces if you don't open it."

Tensing and mentally preparing himself to hit this guy first before magic could be used, Harry let out a breath and grasped the cool door handle. He unlocked the door, jerked it open, and let the door swing wide and slam into the wall.

The man on the other side of the door was very tall. He had red hair and pale, freckled skin. He was dressed in long black and blue robes that looked a little disheveled, as if he'd dressed in a rush. In his hand, he clutched a newspaper so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Worse than this man's towering height, was the murderous look on his face. The intruder stepped forward to enter the room, forcing Harry to step back and admit him.

The man shook the newspaper wildly in Harry's face, jabbing his finger at the front page. Harry stared in shock to see his picture looking back at him from the page, smiling, waving —literally. He was momentarily distracted by this phenomenon, almost forgetting about this tall, angry wizard.

"It's true." The man said, his voice just above a whisper. He was staring at Harry (the real Harry) incredulously. "I can't fucking believe this…"

Dean suddenly raced into the room, looking extremely ragged. He stepped between Harry and the stranger and held up his hands pleadingly toward the newcomer. Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward Dean, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he tried to appear as calm and innocent as possible, so as not to fuel the intruder's anger.

Dean sounded braver than he looked when he said, "Ron, calm down."

Harry started, blinking in confusion. Oh, _this _was Ron? Ron Weasley: best friend and brother-in-law, not a raving lunatic or madman. Relief began to replace some of the fear he'd felt before and he even began to feel pleased to be reunited with a friend. However, this feeling died the moment Ron started yelling again.

"Calm down?" Ron repeated angrily. He pointed his finger at Harry accusingly, but he was still looking at Dean. "Did you know he was here? When did he get here?" He looked over Dean's head and turned his glare on Harry. "When did you get back?"

Ron towered over Dean and although he was grateful for Dean having come to his rescue, he wasn't sure if Dean could much to help if Ron decided to get physical. All Harry could do was hope Dean was faster with his wand.

Again, Dean attempted to sound calm and reasonable. "Ron, he got here last night. But it's not what you think. Harry doesn't—"

Ron viciously threw the paper on the ground and stormed around Dean to get at Harry. "We were best friends for twenty-two years! For twenty-two years, I put up with your bullshit! I know you went through a lot—we all did. But Hermione and I stuck by you, even when you were moody and mean and treating us, your best friends, like dirt."

Harry backed up as Ron stalked after him, looking murderous. Harry didn't know what to do or say to Ron to calm him down. He could tell that Ron wasn't going to give him a chance to explain. Harry glanced helplessly at Dean, but Dean was watching Ron with a weary expression, like a referee looking for the perfect moment to intervene in a hockey brawl. It seemed Dean also knew there was nothing he could do. Harry looked into the face of his supposed-best friend, wishing that a friendship of twenty-two years would be enough to save his face from getting smashed in.

"We stuck by you! And then, suddenly, you decided you had had enough. You told us you were leaving and you packed up your stuff. You left us, you left my sister, and you left your son—you left your whole life behind and you didn't have the courtesy to explain why."

As worried as Harry was about being hit, it was difficult to take this harassment in silence. Irritated, Harry tried interjecting, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "Ron, I just—"

"Don't bother with any excuses!" Ron yelled. "I didn't wait four years to hear an excuse. I waited four years to be able to get even for what you put my family through. I could kill you for hurting Ginny! I've never seen anyone so—broken."

Harry tried not to imagine Ginny looking 'broken,' but the mental image of the woman from his dream took his confidence again. Harry took another defensive step back, though Ron's bull-headedness was really starting to get on his nerves. Was Ron seriously going to just make threats and scream at him?

"If you won't let me explain, what did you come here for?" Harry tried again, though his tone was a tad shaky to sound angry. "Shut your mouth for one minute so I can explain."

Apparently, this was not an effective move. If looks could kill, Harry would have dropped dead. Both he and Ron rigidly stood opposite each other, glaring. Harry could have sworn he saw Ron's hand go for his pocket and for what he assumed would be a wand.

"I had to see if it was true," Ron said, his voice icy. "I want to know why the bloody hell you came back. You made it clear you didn't want this life anymore. You can't have it both ways! You can't just show up here and expect us not to get angry. What makes you think Ginny will let you anywhere near James? What makes you think I'll let you near my sister or any of my family?"

"Ron, Harry doesn't remember any of this," Dean tried again loudly. He put a hand on Ron's shoulder to encourage him to step back, but Ron shrugged him off. Thankfully, Dean wasn't giving up. "Mate, come on, just listen."

Harry thought he was brave to step between him and Ron again, especially since Ron had at least a foot on Dean.

"He doesn't remember that he broke my sister's heart? Never mind what he did to me and Hermione, but what about James? Did you think about how this would affect your son? You, more than anyone, should know what it's like to live without your parents…without a family! How could you abandon them like that?"

Guilt, thick and unyielding, slammed into Harry like a tidal wave at Ron's words. He had to tell Ron the truth. If Ron was this angry, how mad would Ginny be? He needed Ron on his side if he was going to get anywhere near Ginny and his son. Taking another breath, he tried to fight the guilt and helplessness that was starting to drown him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry finally managed to say. "Please, just listen to me. It's not what you think! I don't—"

Ron was done listening, however. He swore at him, yelled something about "excuses" and then lunged at Harry. Harry braced himself to be hit or hexed, knowing there was no stopping it. Dean, still not ready to give up, jumped forward and fought his way between Ron and Harry again. Yelling Ron's name, Dean was able to shove Ron back with one hand and draw his wand with the other. Sadly, Ron had four years of anger and hatred on his side—Dean wasn't quick enough.

"Ron!" Dean shouted, his voice breathless from the effort of holding Ron back.

Ron tried again to get around Dean, aiming his fist at Harry's face, but Dean was in the way. Harry watched helplessly as Ron's fist connected with Dean's jaw. Dean staggered, clutching the left-side of his face. One positive thing did come out of Dean taking the punch: Ron seemed to snap out of his rage. He immediately looked apologetic and conjured a bag of ice out of thin air, his shoulders drooped in defeat.

"Sorry," said Ron, actually sounding sincere.

Harry stood frozen to the spot, impressed that he had a friend like Dean who had taken that punch for him. Dean massaged his jaw and snatched the ice that Ron extended toward him, avoiding Ron's eyes.

"You okay?" Harry asked Dean anxiously. "You should have just let him hit me."

Dean ignored Harry and turned a glare on Ron, the ice pressed to his face. "Harry doesn't remember anything, Ron. Something happened to him—memory charm, I think."

Ron glanced at Harry, his expression changing to one of suspicion instead. "What?" But the question was directed at Dean. Apparently he still wasn't ready to hear from Harry.

"He doesn't remember anything. Not about magic, or Hogwarts, or Voldemort. Four years ago, Harry woke up on the side of a road in America. He had a flashback or something and managed to find his way here last night."

Silence filled the room as Ron was given time to digest this new information. After what felt like hours, Ron sighed heavily and finally looked directly at Harry. Harry waited patiently, giving Ron the chance to speak first.

"Is that true?"

Dean hadn't mentioned a memory charm last night and he didn't want to piss Ron off anymore, but he wanted to be honest. "Yes, the part about me not remembering is true. But my doctor thought it was a head injury… and I have had a head injury since then. I don't know about this memory charm stuff…"

Ron scoffed at the mention of a doctor, folding his arms across his chest. Suspicion was giving way to reluctance and a sheepish expression. "Blimey… well that changes things."

Ron hesitated a moment more before adding, "I'm…sorry…"

Ron grimaced painfully at the sound of his own apology, but Harry was happy to take it.

"I'm Ron Weasley. I've been your best friend since we were eleven, even though I came in here, acting like I wanted to kill you."

Harry shook Ron's hand, deciding not to question Ron's motives in detail. "Hi," he said, unsure of what else to say under these circumstances. 'Nice to meet you' just sounded stupid when they'd been friends for twenty-two years.

Their hands dropped to their sides and Harry waited, unsure what to do now. He wanted to ask Ron questions—maybe even have breakfast, or a very strong drink.

"What a bloody mess," Ron muttered darkly, moving to shut the door for privacy when he noticed a couple peering curiously into the room. "Does anyone else know he's here?"

Dean shook his head and answered for Harry. "No, but the _Prophet _got wind of it, did they?" He went to pick up the paper that Ron had brought in. "Front page…" Dean groaned. He glanced over the article and then said quietly, "It's only a matter of time, Ron. The _Prophet _and every magical publication in Britain is going to want a piece of this story."

"I know. This is going to be bad," Ron agreed.

Frowning, Harry glanced from Ron to Dean, needing answers. "Why?"

"You've been famous since you were a baby," Dean explained patiently. "It's no surprise."

"Your dramatic exit four years ago made you even more famous," Ron added seriously. "It was a huge scandal when everyone's hero left, abandoning his wife and kid. And then you released a statement that got a lot of attention…"

A statement? Had he really released a public statement about wanting to leave his family? Why? What the hell kind of person would write a statement like that for the press? Harry would never, ever do that and he was beginning to fear that this previous version of himself was not someone he would like.

"But why would I do that?" Harry asked anxiously. "Why would I want to hurt Ginny or any of my family like that? All I've wanted in these last four years is to get my memories back and to figure out the life I had! All I wanted was to come back to wherever I came from!"

"That's the million galleon question," Ron muttered. "We all hated you for making your leaving so public. Me and my brothers swore that we'd do a lot of terrible things to you if you ever came back."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry sighed, feeling sick.

Ron looked mildly apologetic for his blunt comment. "But now I'm thinking that there's more. I don't think you left of your own will."

"Did this never occur to any of you when I left? Did this sound like something I would have done?"

Ron and Dean glanced at each other and Harry got the sense that neither of them wanted to answer that question. Dean busied himself with the paper, leaving Ron to give the answer.

Finally, Ron gave in to Harry's pointed stare. "We didn't want to believe it. When all the facts are stacked against you… you talked to Ginny when you left, you released that statement, and we never heard from you again. Yeah, it was sudden and it was out of character… but when Ginny was sure that you left for good, the rest of us lost hope, too."

Harry knew it was irrational when he didn't have any memories of his family, but he felt hurt by everyone's acceptance of his desire to leave. Hadn't anyone tried to stop him? Hadn't anyone considered that magic might be involved?

Harry was flustered, but determined to correct this error in judgment. "There's no way that I left of my own free will. I'm not that person! I could never be that person! I want to meet Ginny and I want to meet James. I want to explain everything to them and tell them I'm sorry. Where are they?"

"I know," Ron said, although Harry didn't like that he sounded so reluctant. "We should probably also take you to get tested for memory charms."

Dean made a noise between a laugh and a scoff. "You want to take him now? What about Ginny? What if she sees the paper and you've taken him to St. Mungo's for testing first? She'd kill you…"

Ron seemed to think it over for a bit, before he nodded and checked his watch. "You're right. She won't be up yet, though. We've got some time."

"Let's go now, then," Harry said, feeling urgent. He wanted to go to Ginny and talk to her before she could read it in the paper and come storming over here like Ron did. "We'll get there before she can read the paper."

Dean scoffed and shook his head. "You're crazy. She won't listen to anything if she sees you, Harry. I don't think it would go over well."

"You think I should go on my own?" Ron asked Dean worriedly.

Harry didn't like the ominous tone to their voices. What sort of reaction were they expecting Ginny to have? Yes, Ginny would understandably be hurt and angry, but would she have a reaction that was worse than Ron's?

"I think I have a right to go," Harry argued, hating that they were wasting time. He didn't want Ginny to find out about him from the newspaper. He wanted to go now and break the news before she had to read about it second-hand.

"Harry, you don't know my sister," Ron said darkly, shaking his head. "You didn't see how torn up she was after you left. If you just suddenly show up on her doorstep, I think she'd feel cornered. I don't think she would react well."

Frustrated, Harry listened as Ron warned him that Ginny's reaction would probably be five times worse. Both Ron and Dean both impressed upon him the scale of Ginny's temper when she was upset and the seriousness of the situation.

"If we don't handle this right, she might refuse to let you near her or James," Ron concluded.

"She hexes first and asks questions later," Dean added.

"How do you know?" Harry asked bitterly. "How do you know that it wouldn't be best coming from me? Or what if I don't go and she wants to see me, how much worse will it be if she has to come all the way over here?"

Ron looked at him funny. "It takes five seconds to apparate to the Leaky Cauldron," Ron retorted. "Harry, James is at home and I know my sister. Seeing you again will be too much—she won't be able to hold it together. And I do know that if nothing else, Ginny wouldn't want her son to see her fall apart like that."

Harry wanted to keep arguing, but he realized that when it came down to who had the better understanding of how Ginny might react, Ron and Dean had the advantage. Ron then told Harry to shower and get dressed while he went to "floo" Hermione for advice. Harry wasn't quite sure what "flooing" was, but he made a mental note to ask later. He was also too distracted to wonder about Hermione, his other best friend, whom he also wanted desperately to meet.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom, Dean had gone back to his own room to get ready for work. Hermione had apparently agreed that it would be best to gently break the news to Ginny and for Harry to wait behind. Hermione reasoned that this way, it would be Ginny's choice of when and/or if she wanted to see Harry. Harry didn't like the "if" part, but he was trying not to focus on it.

Harry protested only once more to let him go, but even then it was a half-hearted attempt. He knew he was going to have to stay back. Ron's final argument officially made him agree to wait.

"It's only fair that she should have some control over letting you back in her life or not. Whether you left of your own free will or not, you were the one who broke her heart."

Ron was relieved when Harry agreed. Checking the time once more, he clapped his hands together, suddenly much more chipper now that the plan was in place.

"Great. Well, it's only seven now and I know Ginny won't be up until eight. Let's get some breakfast first. I'm starved and… as much as I know you'll probably want to get this thing with my sister over with, I'd like to hang out with you a bit." His ears turned bright red at this statement and then he hurriedly added, "If that's okay with you?"

Flattered and a little touched, Harry agreed to breakfast. As much as he wanted to see Ginny, an hour wasn't an unreasonable amount of time to wait. Besides, rebuilding a friendship with one of his best friends was also very important to him. Lastly, it was probably good to let Ginny have one final hour of peace before Ron turned her world upside down again.

Harry grinned nervously as Ron began to tell him how good the food was downstairs. He was glad that even if Ginny hated him, he had at least two good friends in Dean and Ron. "I don't really want to drag you through the streets and attract more attention, so we'll eat downstairs."

"If you don't mind people staring at us," Harry replied.

Ron rolled his eyes and opened the door. "Harry, you might not remember, but I grew up with you. Trust me, I'm used to the staring."

"You know, I once joked about being famous over here. I never thought it would actually be true."

Ron laughed darkly. "I'll have Hermione take you to the book store so you can peruse the books written about you! You're known to the wizarding community as "The Chosen One," "The-Boy-Who-Lived," and my personal favorite, "Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor of 2000."

Ron laughed a little louder at Harry's horrified expression, the sound more natural and carefree. In spite of his shock and embarrassment, Harry chuckled. "Even though I was dating Ginny?"

"The magazine liked to remind its readers that you weren't married. You didn't propose to Ginny until six months after that article came out. Fred and George liked to think that it was that article that finally got you to pop the question. They had it blown up for your engagement party."

"I think the memories of all this fame and nickname stuff are the ones I'd be okay with never remembering," Harry grumbled as they arrived in the main part of the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry took a cautious look around at all the curious heads that turned in their direction, but as Ron made another lighthearted joke, oblivious to the stares. Whether by choice or because Ron was actually used to them, Ron seemed fine with the attention. Deciding that he shouldn't pay attention either, he tried to block out the whispers and the feeling of several pairs of eyes on him.

He and Ron sat down at an empty table. "What's good here? You people don't eat weird things like reptiles or bugs, right?"

"You know, even when I first met you, you never said weird shit like that. No, Harry, we don't eat reptiles or bugs."

"How did I handle learning about magic the first time? Was I as useless as I feel right now?"

Harry tried not to look surprised when Ron used magic to get them menus. As they came floating toward them, Ron said, "You're not useless. All that knowledge is in you somewhere, we just have to find it."

Harry felt a bit better at the sincerity in Ron's voice. He at least sounded far more confident about Harry getting his memories back than his doctors ever were. And the fact that Ron had seen him acclimate to this life once before, and moreover, as a kid, was very reassuring.

"So when do I get to meet my other best friend?"

Without glancing up from his menu, Ron responded. "Hermione at work, but she's debating faking an illness to come down here," Ron mused. "Which is so out-of-character for her."

"She doesn't play hooky?"

Ron smirked and shook his head as he looked over the extensive menu. "Hermione loves rules. She kept us in line while we were at school… or… as much in line as was possible while the three of us were off breaking about a hundred school rules."

Harry smiled, curious. "I have a feeling that you have much better stories to tell me than Dean."

Ron chuckled darkly. "If you like stories that ends in near-death experiences, then yeah, I've got lots of stories, Harry."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes:

Thank you to everyone for all your support and encouragement! So here is the next chapter for your reading pleasure... or frustration lol. This chapter was particularly difficult to write for many reasons. I found myself using my own experience with facing "the one who got away." If you've ever had to go through this, you know that these things are never easy, they never go the way you plan and you can never say the right thing. Let the H/G angst continue! Thank you again and happy reading!

**Chapter 6: Being Both Harrys**

Breakfast tasted much better than he had expected. The food served at the Leaky Cauldron was "normal," although many of the beverages were foreign to him– what the hell was Butterbeer? Harry was pleased and suddenly ravenous when his scrambled eggs, toast and sausage arrived, looking no different from that of a typical restaurant's.

Except for the fact that the dishes floated over to their table on their own, of course.

And while Harry hadn't completely been able to block out the staring, the pointing, or the whispering, he had managed to have a good time with Ron. After a large meal and a cup of much-needed coffee, Harry was feeling truly content for the first time since arriving in London. Ron, who found Harry's choice of black coffee quite revolting, ordered pumpkin juice, which Harry refused to try. What sort of person willingly wanted to drink the juice from a pumpkin?

After a debate of what on the menu tasted gross and what did not, Ron coolly excused himself to go talk to Ginny, which brought back a flood of anxiety. Ron paid for breakfast with a lot of strange coins and then quickly departed. And by quickly, Harry meant immediately and into thin-air. Ron vanished with a distinct cracking noise, leaving Harry feeling glum about the chances of actually fitting into this life.

Harry retreated to his room, which probably disappointed the occupants of the Leaky Cauldron as he was depriving them of their breakfast entertainment. With the door closed, Harry quickly began to feel trapped and impatient. He absolutely hated waiting. He was sure he'd never felt so nervous in his entire life (which probably wasn't saying much, considering how much of his life he actually remembered).

Surely there were things that had made him more nervous than this? Exams? What about the war? What he wanted and needed was perspective, but perspective was hard to have when these were situations he felt belonged to an entirely different person.

Harry felt he might be sick if things went badly today. It was the strangest feeling to be so nervous about meeting Ginny, someone he didn't know. Still, he was married to her and once upon a time they had been very much in love. He had spent many years in a relationship with her and Dean had mentioned that he'd known Ginny almost as long as he'd known Ron. That sort of connection made any pain Harry had inflicted on her much, much worse.

Harry was preparing himself that part of her, if not all, would hate him. How could she not hate him? Sam had been furious and humiliated when Harry had accidentally stood her up for a date, and this situation made that incident seem like nothing. Ginny would certainly be ten times more upset after being stood up for the last four years. And on top of being the biggest disappointment of a husband, there was also that statement he released to the press. A statement he wasn't sure if wanted to read, but part of him thought he probably should.

Yep, I'm a deuchebag, Harry thought miserably.

Do Brits even use the term deuchebag? Harry regretted not buying a travel book before coming here so he might be more familiar with the jargon. He shared the accent with these people, but his diction was American.

While he waited, Harry made a list of other questions he wanted to ask Ron, or Dean, or whoever was willing to listen. Harry wasn't counting on Ginny dedicating any portion of time to sit and answer his questions. He was, however, counting on being cursed or hexed, or whatever it was that angry witches did to their husbands. If not hit with a spell, then she'd probably want to slap him or hit him.

Or worse, she'd just stand there and cry. Harry hated it when women cried–it made him feel terrible and helpless. He preferred a backhand across the face over a woman crying her heart out because of something he'd done.

After thinking about being attacked by his wife, it again occurred to Harry that he did not have a magical wand. Shouldn't he have one lying around somewhere? Where would he have left it? And how did one use magic? Did you have to learn it from school or could he head down to the local bookstore and pick up a copy of Using Magic For Dummies?

He still had no idea how he'd lit the candles, the lanterns and the tip of his wand. He didn't remember any spells, or anything remotely close to what he imagined wizards were able to do. Hell, Harry didn't even know how magicians sawed their volunteers in half at children's magic shows.

In his notepad, he scrawled in large, bolded letters: "GET A MAGIC WAND." Nervous about Ginny turning him into a squash-able bug, he circled the words a few times as well. Yes, getting a magic wand was a high priority. After Ginny hexed him and Ron reversed the spell, he would have Ron show him where to buy one. Hopefully they took Visa in whatever whacky place sold magic wands.

Harry tossed his notebook back into his bag a little harder than necessary and glared at his bag. Waiting was infuriating.

After pacing, he tried sitting on the bed, lying down, and even trying to read the mystery novel he'd brought on the plane. After re-reading the same lines over and over, Harry gave an exasperated moan and tossed the book back into his suitcase. Glancing at his watch, he resumed his pacing, wondering how Ginny was taking the news right now. Harry sincerely hoped that Ron was being as gentle and comforting as possible.

Pulling out his phone, Harry checked voicemail (no messages), checked his email on his phone, resorting to reading a forwarded email joke from Andrew, and perusing six subscription emails from newspapers and magazines, but nothing helped alleviate the worry and impatience he felt.

Sadly, his cellphone was only a distraction for a few minutes. Sighing in frustration, he shoved the phone back in his pocket and walked to the window, half-wishing Sam would call just to help get his mind off things. He stared out onto the street, wondering when Ron would be back and what the chances were that he would return with good news.

Harry leaned his forehead against the cool glass, envious of all the people below who were probably having better days than him. Envious of all the people who hadn't been wrenched away from their family, friends and life and had their memories taken away.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the door opening. A sharp gasp of breath sliced through the silence and caused him to jump nearly a foot in the air. Harry turned, his heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. Standing in the room with him was the red-headed woman from his dream.

Ginny.

Harry stared back at her, but found himself unable to say anything. Shocked, Ginny's mouth was hanging open slightly and her eyes were overly bright, as if she might start crying at any moment. She stood so rigidly that Harry thought she might be made of stone. It felt like hours until Harry finally decided he should be the one to speak first, since he was the one disrupting her life.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but his tongue felt all cottony. Harry only knew Ginny from his dream, but she hadn't changed much. Seeing her in real life was both a surreal and scary experience. Her hair was shorter than it had been in the dream, and like Harry, she wore regular clothes, which was slightly reassuring. Seeing her look so normal made him feel like he could relate to her better than if she had showed up with a magic wand and wearing medieval robes and a pointy witch's hat.

"Er, hi," Harry finally managed to say, inching away from the window. He felt as if he were approaching a deer caught in headlights. Think Potter! Say something before she can run or use her wand…

Just be calm. Be logical. Don't start pathetically begging.

"Ginny, I know you probably weren't expecting to see me and I'm sure that my being here is quite a shock… I didn't expect you'd come here and find me…"

Good start, Harry, he thought irritably. Just keep babbling. That'll get you points…

Harry wished he didn't sound like such a moron. He tried to think up the quickest, simplest way to tell the truth, without sounding like he was spouting excuses. Words–why didn't he have any words? He could talk to celebrity athletes, executives at work, any stranger on the street, any member of the press, or even Sam when she was at her angriest. And yet, here he was, unable to form a full sentence and staring at Ginny like an idiot.

"Ron went looking for you," he added. Harry was very aware of his face heating up with embarrassment. Good, he'd be a red-faced idiot.

Ginny still didn't speak. Harry watched as her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to figure out if she was really looking at Harry. He moved forward and he heard her sharp intake of breath, as if those steps had caused her physical pain. He hesitated, wanting to close the unreasonable amount of distance between them so they wouldn't have an awkward conversation across the room. Regarding her carefully, Harry took another experimental, but small step toward her. Ginny backed up and held up a shaking hand. The sound of her quick, scared breaths filled the loudest silence Harry had ever heard.

"Stop," she whispered, agony dripping from her voice.

Harry obeyed and froze, hating that this wasn't going well. Obviously she didn't trust him and she didn't want to be near him. Despite the situation, Harry found himself eagerly memorizing everything about her, hoping that his brain would suddenly remember something–anything–about the woman he was married to. He used to be in love with this woman! He married her and had a child with her! Shouldn't he remember someone who was obviously such a major part of his life?

Harry noticed her pale skin–probably paler than normal, given the circumstances, and the splash of freckles across her nose. He noticed how the sunlight from outside bounced off the radiant colour of her hair, giving her golden highlights. She had long, sideways bangs that many women favoured these days, pieces of which fell into her pretty eyes.

Even across the room he could see that her eyes were a dark chocolate brown and a very warm colour, framed by dark lashes. He noticed the shadows beneath her eyes, as if she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while. She was thin, but not unhealthily so, and he imagined that in height, she came up to his chin. Her arms hung rigidly at her sides, and her fingernails were painted a pastel purple colour, which didn't seem to go with her hair at all. He also noted that she wore no rings on her fingers.

Her ears were pierced and she wore diamond studs, just visible through the locks of hair that tumbled over her slender shoulders. She wore old jeans that hugged her shapely legs and a black zip-up jumper. On her feet, she wore old black running shoes. In general, she looked as if she'd just gotten dressed and rushed over here, but Harry thought she was still beautiful.

Apparently, the old Harry had had good luck and good taste in women. A voice in his head congratulated him on these things.

"I saw the paper," she said, her voice catching on every word.

Harry frowned as he realized Ron never found Ginny. That, or Ron had told Ginny and her reaction was to knock Ron unconscious and come here herself. It now occurred to him that unless Ron suddenly figured out that Ginny was here, there was no one to help him explain, or to keep her from hexing him.

He had to do this himself. Actually, now that he thought about it, he realized that he really wanted to do this himself. He wanted to be the one to tell her, to explain himself, to ask for forgiveness. Deciding that this distance between them wasn't a reassuring way to have a conversation, Harry moved more determinedly toward her, silently begging that Ginny would stay where she was and listen–that she would want to listen. Even if she only stayed to yell at him, that would work; he just needed her to stay.

Thankfully, Ginny didn't move this time, but his movement triggered colour to rush back into her face. When she spoke again, her voice was biting. He sensed that Ginny Weasley was fiery and that was not the type of woman to just stand there and cry.

"So I guess when you said 'I'm never coming back. I hate this life and I hate you for making me stay,' you didn't entirely mean it?" She asked, eyeing him with contempt.

Harry winced. He hoped he didn't lose his nerve by hearing about the specifics of his leaving her. "I said that?"

Ginny glared back at him with watery eyes, confirming that yes, four years ago, he did say those things. Perhaps 'deuchebag' wasn't going to cover it…

She needed to know the truth. She needed to know that whoever said those awful things (and he was guessing there were more terrible words exchanged), was gone. She needed to know that Ron and Dean were convinced that magic was behind his behaviour and actions. She needed to know that he never wanted to leave in the first place.

"Ginny, I have no memories of anything. Nothing. I don't remember you."

As he admitted to not remembering her, he realized just how much these words would hurt him, if he were in her shoes.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and gave a short, cold laugh. "You don't remember? So you come back here because you want to remember the life you threw away? You expect me to help you remember?"

She shook her head quickly when Harry tried to interject. "How DARE you show up here!" She shrieked, her voice breaking as a sob shook her shoulders. "How dare you come back here without any warning!"

Was his tongue swelling up? It certainly felt like his tongue was swelling.

"I just wanted to make sure it was true," Ginny said, turning to go. "So now that I know for sure, kindly stay the fuck away from me and my son."

Harry gaped at her. Yep, she was fiery. He began to panic at the idea of losing her and never seeing her again. Ginny whirled around and headed for the door.

"Ginny, no!" Harry begged. To his surprise and to Ginny's, the door slammed shut in her face, all of its own free will.

Harry blinked, now vaguely aware of the odd tingling sensation in his fingers and the way the fear had suddenly consumed his mind. His heart was pounding out an uneven rhythm in his chest and he felt a little strange. Had he just used magic to make the door close?

Determined to leave, she ignored him and reached for the doorknob. Harry heard the doorknob jiggle in place and he winced as she cursed and drew her wand from her back pocket. She tried to use magic to unlock the door, but when her spell didn't work, she viciously kicked the door with a furious cry.

"Are you mental?" Ginny demanded, wheeling around. "You can't keep me here!"

And he believed her. "Look, I don't know how that just happened. Please, Ginny! I don't know have any memories at all. None. Something happened to me four years ago…someone took away my memories! Ron thinks someone made me leave!"

This time, she might have understood. Her eyes widened slightly, but she was still looking at him like she wanted to hit him. He supposed she had imagined him re-appearing one day and giving her a whole list of excuses and a lot of begging.

As calmly and as seriously as he could, he added, "I swear I'm telling the truth."

As her expression changed from one of hatred to one of suspicion, Harry relaxed a little. Harry thought she might even look more scared than angry. Taking this as a sign that she was at least a little bit willing to listen, he continued.

"I don't know why I left, or how I ended up in America four years ago–that's where I've been. I started to remember things and so I got on a plane and came back to London. I ran into Dean, then Ron came here and he tried to hit me…"

He saw a flicker of surprise and something else that Harry thought looked suspiciously like pleasure at hearing Ron tried to hit him, but it was gone before he could be sure.

He hoped his face conveyed how sorry he was and how honest he was being. "I'll explain all the details, but the important thing you need to know is that I don't remember anything about my life up until four years ago. Up until last night, I had no idea who I was. I still have no bloody clue! Dean told me that I'm married to you and we have a son." His voice shook with emotion on the word 'son,' and it seemed to soften Ginny up, too.

"I have no idea what I'm supposed to do or say, but I need you to believe me. Dean and Ron think someone used magic on me to erase all my memories and to send me to New York… Please believe me…"

Ginny swallowed hard, shifting from foot to foot, as if she was debating running away. Harry could see her thinking quickly, calculating her options. She averted her eyes and stared off into the corner of the room, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Harry kept his gaze trained on her, willing her to believe him. He had a very bad feeling that she might take off at any moment like Sam did whenever they fought. Sam typically didn't stick around whenever she started crying.

Simply looking at her, he could see just how much damage his leaving had done. He could see years of pain, anger, confusion, and loss in her expression and in her body language. Just in case she was reliving whatever he had said or done when he'd left, he decided to reassure her again.

"I don't know why I did what I did, or said what I did, but I'm really–"

Suddenly, she was furious. "No," she snapped, jerking her head up to look at him, her eyes blazing. Harry flinched at her vicious response, silently telling himself to shut his mouth before he made it worse. "Don't say you're sorry. Even if what you're saying is true… I can't hear that from you…"

There was a brief pause of awful silence before she started to cry. Horrible, shaking sobs wracked her body. Harry reluctantly kept his distance, wanting terribly to comfort her, but sure he had no right to do so. He just stood there, helplessly watching her cry her heart out.

Several anguished, guilt-ridden minutes past before Ginny wiped at her tears with her sleeve and looked him straight in the eye.

"Harry, in all the reasons I thought up for why you'd left, and in all the situations I imagined where you came back, I never expected..." She pursed her lips and sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "I don't know... I don't know if I believe you. Maybe I don't want to because it was easier to just accept you hated me."

Harry waited for her to speak again. He could tell that she was mulling all this over in her mind and he didn't want to rush her next decision in case it pushed her into storming out on him. If anyone could help him get his memory back, it was Ginny– coming back to find his family was the whole reason he was here. He found it. Ginny and the son he didn't know he had. If he lost Ginny, he would likely lose his only chance of learning about who he was.

She took a deep, shaky breath as a flicker of the fury he'd seen before appeared again. "I want to be angry. I want to yell and scream, and tell you to go to hell. I want to hurt you for what you did to me and James."

Her eyes flashed, even as tears slipped down her cheeks "I hate you for what you put me through… I hate you for leaving my son. And for four years, all I've had is that hatred and pain, but now you're telling back and telling me that there's a reason for it?"

"I can't imagine how it must have felt… but I am sorry for what I did. I've felt so lost and alone these last four years because I couldn't remember anything about who I was. But I'm back now… and I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but I am sorry. I want to try and be the person I was before…"

"I don't know who that person is," Ginny whispered bitterly. "I don't know anymore, Harry."

"I don't know either," Harry interjected quickly. "I feel like I'm two different versions of myself. You have no idea how hard this has been… how terrible it feels to live your life in the dark."

"Actually, I do. I know exactly how terrible it is to live in the dark–the last four years have been exactly the same. I didn't know you, I didn't know what I did to deserve all those things you said."

She moped up a few more tears that slid down her cheeks. Harry could see her hands were clenched into fists, and were visibly shaking. Harry knew how that Ginny could relate more than anyone else. She spent the last four years alone, unable to understand what happened to make him leave. Four years of not knowing why she'd lost her husband, four years of probably trying to make their son understand why he didn't have a father…

"Ginny, all I've wanted is to come here and figure out the truth about who I was. If someone used magic to make me leave… is it really my fault?"

"No!" Ginny moaned. "Of course not, but you have to understand that it just… changes everything. I want to believe you… I want to believe that everything from before wasn't real. I want to believe that you never said all those terrible things to me, but I can't just forget it!"

He was sure he was making progress now.

"I understand. You've had four years to think one way about me," Harry said reluctantly. "But I've had four years to want nothing but to come back. I think if I really wanted to leave you–memories or no memories–then I wouldn't want to come back as badly as I did." He paused, realizing the truth of his own words as he said them. "I think deep down, that's why I was never really happy living there. I knew I had to come back."

Ginny looked at him, her pretty brown eyes searching his face almost desperately. Harry could see the change in her face–she was accepting his words as the truth.

To his surprise, she took a few small steps towards him. Just in case, Harry stayed absolutely still, not wanting to scare her off. "You swear you don't remember anything? Hogwarts? Your Aunt and Uncle? Dumbledore? James? You swear it?"

"I swear it."

Trembling, Ginny kept moving slowly forward, her expression softening. Harry could see her resolve to hate him slowly melting, like ice in the sunshine. "You're Harry James Potter? You're not an illusion or using Polyjuice Potion, or anything?"

"Didn't know my middle name was James, I'm sure I'm real, and I have no fucking clue what Polyjuice Potion is."

She came closer, hugging herself like she was afraid if she let go, she would fall to pieces. Ginny kept her eyes on him warily, but as she came closer, Harry saw something different in her eyes: hope. It was fragile, probably easily crushed, though it kept her moving her toward him.

"A tiny part of me hoped that you'd left was because someone made you," she said, her voice barely audible. "No one believed me, so I stopped saying it and gave up hope like everyone else."

He could feel himself staring to hope and believe that he could get his memories back and that he could be the person she remembered. "I wish that someone could have still believed in me," Harry replied dully, feeling depressed that even his wife, the person who knew him best, had given up on him.

She was close enough now that if Harry reached out, he could touch her. This close, he could see more than just a flicker of hope. He could see the distrust, and worse, he could see the expectation that he would hurt her. The expectation that he would hurt her was more terrible than her distrust and wariness.

He could smell her perfume–a flowery scent that was vaguely familiar. His heart began to race at this recognition, his mind reeling to connect the smell with a memory. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could remember dreams filled with this smell; dreams where he'd felt happy and secure. Dreams where he'd missed something.

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. Maybe it was the flowery smell that made him crazy. Maybe it was some knee-jerk reaction from feelings buried deep within him. Either way, Harry couldn't help himself. One hand reached out to touch her face, his thumb brushing the soft skin along her jaw. It was too late to be embarrassed when his hand affectionately cupped her cheek. Ginny inhaled sharply in surprise at his touch, but she didn't pull away. Instead she closed her eyes and slightly turned her head into his hand.

He released the air in his lungs when he realized he was holding his breath. His thumb gently stroked her soft cheek, reveling in how familiar this was. His fingers trailed to her neck, gently brushing the soft hair there. Suddenly, Ginny jerked away from him as if she'd been burned, glaring at him as if he'd crossed a line. Harry dropped his hand, feeling stupid and embarrassed.

Harry was about to apologize, but she spoke first. "You always used to touch me like that," she whispered feebly.

"Even if I don't remember… I am really sorry. I hate that I hurt you," Harry murmured. "I'm so sorry for what I did."

"Okay," Ginny said simply, but the word wasn't angry or sarcastic. It was soft, like an acceptance of the truth. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was good enough for now.

"You're different," she murmured, staring up at him. "The same, but different…"

Unsure of what to say to that, he decided not to question her. He didn't remember who he was, so he couldn't agree or disagree on the matter. He did wonder if Ginny thought it was 'good different' or 'bad different.' That distinction probably mattered quite a lot.

He found himself looking into her eyes, feeling lost in the pools of warm chocolaty brown. She had such beautiful eyes–eyes that he desperately wanted to remember. Ginny swallowed, watching him warily as she came closer still. He got the feeling she was testing herself, but also him. For what, he had no idea.

Ginny reached up to touch his face, her fingers gliding up his cheek and then to his forehead. Her fingers lightly brushed his fringe aside to reveal the lightening scar. He'd always been embarrassed by his scar. People had always asked him if he'd carved it himself, or if it was a tattoo. He closed his eyes when her fingers touched the marred skin and traced the angry pink line, not wanting to see the knowing look on her face. Ginny probably knew exactly where it came from and why he had it. Unlike Sam, Ginny didn't appear disgusted or embarrassed by it, which was comforting. Sam was always telling him to cover it with his hair, or even lightly teasing him to borrow her cover-up.

His wandering mind began to wonder if maybe Ginny liked all the things about him that Sam hated. He wondered why she'd fallen in love with him. Was he a charmer? Was he funny? Had he chased her for years before she finally gave in and agreed to a date?

"Harry," Ginny murmured in wonder, calling him back to the present.

Harry lazily opened his eyes, slightly surprised to find that she'd come very close to him. Their feet were practically touching and Harry was suddenly very unsure what to do with his hands. He could almost count the freckles on her nose. Maybe it was the scar that really confirmed his identity–no imposter could have that kind of a mark, he was sure.

Her fingers travelled down the side of his face, resting on his jaw. Her fingers felt oddly good on his skin, even though he could still feel the trembling of her hand. He heard her breath catch as her fingers slowly trailed a path onto his neck, brushing the hair on the nape of his neck. A pleasant shiver shot down his spine as her fingers glided down to his shoulder, her palm pressing into the warm skin there. She rested both hands on his shoulders for a moment, before lightly taking his hands. Her hands were cold in his and small, but they fit perfectly within his. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed his hand lightly, before letting go.

Ginny reached up to push her hair behind one ear, her cheeks pink. "You still don't feel real to me," she admitted softly.

"If it helps, my life here doesn't seem real to me…" Harry said, amazed at how relaxed he felt right at this moment. He was currently fighting an irrational urge to pull her against his chest and hold her until she stopped trembling. He wanted to erase that look on her face, the one that told him she was waiting for him to break her heart again.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something when the door banged opened and startled them both. Ginny practically leapt from his arms, resuming her deer-in-headlights expression as Ron entered, out of breath and practically stumbling into the room.

Ron looked quickly between them, his expression now smug.

"Oh. I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Ron said dryly. "Gave him a chance to explain, did you? I hurried all the way back here when I thought you might be cursing him, but I guess I worried for nothing."

Ginny nodded a little stiffly, her cheeks flushing with colour.

"Well, Harry isn't dead and you both look like you used to whenever anyone entered a room, so I'm guessing that everything is okay."

"Nothing happened, Ron," Ginny snapped at her brother, her entire face a bright red colour.

Harry almost started worrying at how defensive she sounded at the joking accusation that she had been kissing her husband. But that was stupid–after all, he wouldn't be kissing Ginny and he didn't want to kiss Ginny. He loved Sam. The moment he'd just shared with Ginny wasn't romantic, per se. They were both very emotional and Harry had got caught up in his memory of the smell of her perfume. That smell had caused him to temporarily lose his mind.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't feel all that guilty. He couldn't feel guilty, not when his head was still full of the smell of her perfume and the feeling of her fingers on his skin. Not when he wanted to do irrational things like feel if her hair was as soft as it looked, or if he hugged her, would she fit perfectly in his arms?

"Well… I guess I'll go fill Hermione in," Ron continued conversationally. "Ginny, I doubt you'll have Harry to yourself for very long. The whole family will want to see him, but I'll try to buy you a bit more time. I'm sure you'll have lots to talk about…"

Ron winked at Harry, who wished the floor would swallow him up.

"No, that's fine," Ginny stammered. "I should go, anyway…"

Ginny tried to leave, but Ron stood in her way, frowning at his sister's obviously evasive behavior. "Go? You're going to leave him here?"

Ginny glanced back at Harry, hesitating. Harry was realizing he felt sick at being abandoned like this. Again, he had to remind himself that Ginny was not his to lose–he had already lost her and anyway, he was in love with someone else. He could see her thinking very hard, trying to come up with some reason why she needed to leave, but then her shoulders slumped and she faced Ron.

"No, of course not," Ginny replied, not at all sounding sincere.

"Good," Ron said cheerily. "So, what should we do? Back to your place?"

"It's a mess," Ginny blurted. "And James is gone," she added quickly, guessing that this would probably be Ron's next question.

As annoying as it was to need Ron to make the plans for them, Harry appreciated his efforts to keep Ginny close to him. He wanted to make sure that he actually got the chance to talk to Ginny and to secure a meeting with his son.

Ginny again had her arms wrapped around herself in that protective stance. He realized sadly that their relationship, or whatever the hell you called this, would be far from easy. Ginny might have let her guard down a few minutes ago, but Ron's pushiness seemed to suggest Harry didn't have much of a chance on his own. When that door had opened, all of her insecurities and fears had come back in with Ron.

Harry wondered if maybe she felt the same painful ache in her chest as he felt. He didn't know a lot about who he was, but he knew he did not want to be apart from Ginny. Morals about right and wrong, wondering about his feelings for Ginny, concern about what and how to tell Sam–none of it mattered right now. He needed to be around Ginny, meet his son, and hopefully trigger memories.

"Well, if you really don't want time alone, we can bring him back to my place. I think Hermione will probably want to see him," said Ron.

"Alright," Ginny quickly agreed, her face remaining impassive.

"Perfect," Ron said, leading the way.

Ginny didn't even look back at him before hurrying after her brother. With Ginny gone, Harry felt her rejection and the sting of her eagerness to be away from him. He had to earn her trust back somehow, without hurting her in the process. Thinking about the look on her face when she'd finally come close to him, Harry knew he had to tell Ginny about the last four years and about Sam. He imagined that if she got the wrong idea about his return, it wouldn't bode well for his chances to be around his son.

The last thing he wanted was a custody battle. Legal proceedings over custody were never easy and more often than not, Harry felt they hurt the children involved.

Worse than his desire to have some sort of bond with Ginny, was his realization that a bond with his son was going to be incredibly difficult. He had missed the last four years of his life and who knew what sorts of things James had grown up hearing about him.

James was his–he was here because of him and Ginny. It was such an odd concept to accept, but Harry felt strongly attached to this little person whom he had never met. If his son didn't like him, he knew it would probably hurt just as much, or maybe even more than Ginny rejection.

Harry began to feel angry with himself that he hadn't thought about the possibilities about who or what was waiting for him here. Had he never considered the complications and decisions that would need to be made about his old life? Had he really thought he'd learn about who he was and then go home to Sam and live out the rest of his life? Harry doubted that once he met his son that he'd be okay living hundreds of miles away from him.

Harry was definitely starting to feel like he was two people: the Harry who had lived in New York with Sam, and the Harry he was supposed to be: husband, father and wizard. And while yesterday, he had considered his New York-self to be who he really was, he was beginning to think he had it wrong.

He had two lives that he could live, but only one of them would allow him to be happy. He just didn't know which of them it was. He would have to give up everything he knew and give up Sam to stay here. Or else, he'd have to give up seeing his son, Ginny, his family and friends to be with Sam. Either way, he would lose something. And worse than his own loss, the decision was going to hurt someone terribly.

Life was fucking unfair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: A Best Friend's Duty**

As it turned out, the Floo Network wasn't as scary as it looked. As wary as he was to stand in a roaring green fire, he did it without complaint so that neither Ginny nor Ron would realize how terrified he actually was. Pushing aside his fear of being burnt to death, he was able to stand in the grate and call out the address that Ron had given him. When his feet finally found solid floor and the world stopped moving around him, Harry happily stepped out of the fireplace and into a very homey room.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much time to look around as he found himself swallowed up in a hug by a woman who squealed and threw herself at him. Almost certain that this was Hermione, Harry returned the hug, very glad to finally receive a warm greeting.

"Ron's owl explained everything!" she sobbed into his neck. She was clinging to him so tightly that it was almost painful. "Oh, Harry! It's so wonderful to see you again!"

Ron gently tried to detach Hermione from Harry. "Hermione, let the man breathe!"

Hermione, his other long-lost best friend released her hold on him, but immediately grabbed his hands and tugged him further into the room, beaming from ear to ear. She had a lot of brown hair, most of which was pulled into a knot at the back of her head. Stray wavy tendrils fell over her shoulders and framed her face. She was dressed in black and white wizard robes that sort of resembled a woman's business suit. She had a pretty smile and sparkling brown eyes.

Smiling himself, Harry let her lead him forward. "So, it's Hermione?"

Her face fell slightly, as if she suddenly remembered that he had no idea who she was. But she quickly wiped the grimace off her face and smiled again.

"Yes, I'm Hermione. I rushed home the moment Ron told me you were back and that you've been cursed. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to hear that all this time…" she trailed off on the verge of more tears, shaking her head to gain control of her emotions. "But none of that matters. Come in, sit down and tell us everything."

"Hermione isn't at all excited to see you," Ron joked sarcastically to Harry, thumping him on the back.

"Ron, put the kettle on," Hermione ordered, dragging Harry over to the sofa. "Are you hungry, Harry? Can I get you anything?"

"No, Ron and I had breakfast," Harry told her, still reveling in how nice it was to have one person be immediately happy to see him.

Apparently the idea of he and Ron having breakfast was enough to make Hermione all misty-eyed again with joy. Harry glanced at Ginny, who had quietly taken a seat in an armchair, looking unsure that she wanted to be there. Before he could overanalyze her reaction, he turned back to Hermione.

"Well, it's been four years..." Harry began awkwardly with a chuckle. "And I guess everything has changed. I've been living in New York…"

Hermione's eyes widened, perched on the edge of her seat, as if this was the most interesting thing she'd ever heard her entire life.

"Really? New York? Do you like living there? I've only been once, and I didn't really care for it. It's so hectic and crowded… What did you do there?"

She said all this very fast, in a voice that made her sound very sure of herself. If Harry didn't know that they were best friends, he might think she was a bit of a know-it-all. Harry was about to answer when Ron came in, trailed by a tea tray that floated midair and then magically placed itself down on the coffee table.

"Just tell the cup how you like your tea," Ron explained to Harry, as if this was all very normal to talk to one's cup.

Amazed, Harry had the cup make him a strong tea, all the while feeling as if he were in the middle of a Disney movie. What was the one where all the kitchen utensils and plates danced around?

"Does it mind being drunk out of?" Harry asked slowly, eyeing the now-still teacup in front of him.

Ginny, Ron and Hermione all smiled amusedly, but it was Hermione who answered. "No, the cup isn't alive, it's just a spell."

As Harry took a hesitant sip of tea, half-afraid that the cup would come to life, he took the time to look around the cozy living room. Overall, this house was much looked much more normal than the Leaky Cauldron. In fact, it was very similar to his own apartment. It was comforting to be in a house where things like electricity could be found—even if the teacups might be spelled.

Apparently Hermione had abandoned her other two questions because she changed conversation topics. "So Ron says you have absolutely no memories of anything… it must be overwhelming to be back here."

"You have no idea," Harry muttered, setting his teacup down.

"But who would do this? Obviously someone who has a particular talent with memory charms," Hermione said, though the question was directed toward Ron and Ginny.

"Magic can fix me, right?" Harry asked worriedly, noticing that all three of them wore concerned expressions.

Ron looked hesitant, but he responded quickly. "Memory charms are tricky. We'll have to take you to St. Mungo's. They can figure out if they can lift the charm."

Harry's face fell at this news. If? There was a chance that magic couldn't fix this? How was that fair? Magic could hurt him, but not heal him? Didn't the definition of the word 'magic' imply the producing of a remarkable and supernatural result? Shouldn't magic be able to do anything?

"I'll make you an appointment," Ginny promised, speaking up suddenly. "I can take him to St. Mungo's."

"It'll all work out, Harry," Hermione said in her confident, matter-of-fact voice. "And in the mean time, you have all of us to help you."

Harry still wasn't convinced. His mind was replaying his doctor's grim diagnosis of his condition. He didn't like the fact that there was no guarantee magic would bring his memories back. "My doctor said I might not ever get my memory back."

Hermione dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Normally, that would be true for muggles who have amnesia from head trauma, but that isn't the case with you. Head trauma didn't do this—it's different."

Harry frowned at this. How did she know, though? What if his condition was a mixture of both head trauma and magic? Would this affect his chances of getting better? "I was found on the side of a road four years ago… what if I did hit my head? I also hit my head on vacation and got a concussion."

Hermione looked concerned. "Oh no! How?"

"I was being stupid. I fell and hit my head on some rocks. Apparently, I was babbling something about winning…"

He watched Ron, Hermione and Ginny all exchange dark, knowing looks and he got the feeling that the reason for his babbling was not a pleasant topic. Torn between curiosity and the fear of what they might tell him, he decided to let it drop for now. This was, after all, supposed to be a happy reunion between friends.

"You did the same thing right when the war ended," Ron said gravely. "You were like that when Ginny found you. You were in shock and you were bleeding pretty badly. You just kept asking if we won and if we were okay."

This new information sent a chill down his spine. "Oh," he muttered dully, not really sure what else to say. Sick curiosity wanted to know more about the war, but he decided he would ask those questions later. Now was not the time to bring up something so depressing. He was grateful enough to know what his babbling had meant.

"So tell me about yourselves," Harry said quickly, hoping to erase the feeling of unease from the room.

Hermione looked at him in wonder and then glanced at Ron and Ginny. "This is strange." She turned her attention back on Harry, grinning a little nervously. "We met on the Hogwarts Express in our first year. We became friends after you and Ron saved me from a mountain troll."

Harry gaped at her, waiting for the punch line. When Ron started to chuckle, both Hermione and Ginny cracked a grin. They were serious? He had saved Hermione from a troll? Trolls were real? Did they also live under bridges and rob travellers?"

"Don't look so shocked," Ron said, missing the fact that Harry was still stuck on the idea of trolls existing, rather than the act of heroism itself. "That's not even the stupidest, most dangerous thing we've ever done."

"But… a troll?"

"They're big, ugly and really stupid. They smell awful," Ginny said, smiling slightly. "I bet seeing a troll again would trigger that memory. You don't forget the first time you smell a troll."

"Disgusting," Ron agreed darkly.

"Wait, you said that's not the most stupid thing we've done. What else did we do that's dangerous?"

"It's sort of a long list," Ginny said, still looking rather amused with the conversation.

"You killed a basilisk," Hermione replied shrewedly. "With a sword. And you almost died when its fang pierced your arm. Luckily, Dumbledore's phoenix saved you with its tears."

"You saved my life in the Chamber of Secrets," said Ginny.

"You repelled about a hundred Dementors at once," Ron added.

To Harry's horror, the list went on and on. Hermione, Ginny and Ron all had more additions, each of them recalling dangerous and stupid things he did, one after another. Before long, they were all grinning—as if the length of the list was so funny that it negated how terrible the content of the list was.

"You defeated a dragon."

"You fell over fifty feet from your broomstick!"

"We broke into Gringotts bank!"

"You destroyed Voldemort's Horcruxes."

"You faced Death Eaters and Voldemort—and you lived."

"You saved the wizarding world."

Harry looked at his friends, hoping they were playing a really bad joke on him. Harry couldn't believe it—how could anyone believe it? Dragons? Bank robbery? Saving the world? How the hell could he forget all of these things? How could anyone with as many near-death experiences as he had, not remember anything about all the stupid and dangerous things he'd done?

"That's to name a few," Hermione said, nudging his arm playfully to try and bring Harry out of his shocked silence.

Releasing a long sigh, Harry leaned back into the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. "I really did all those things? How is that possible? How am I still alive? I swear, if I get my memory back, I'm never going to be that stupid ever again."

They all laughed and Hermione hugged him affectionately. "Wait until you're back to normal yourself before you go and make big promises like that."

Was this not the first time he'd made this promise? Shouldn't his friends have prevented him from taking on trolls and dragons? "Have I promised that before?"

"Once or twice," Ron said with a chuckle.

After another long moment of shocked silence, Harry actually laughed. It was crazy and ridiculous to think all these things were true, but that didn't prevent him from realizing that these people had probably been there with him. They'd stuck by him, despite his kamikaze tendencies. So no matter how fucked up it all sounded, Harry was able to feel glad he had such good friends.

To be here, laughing with friends who knew him so well, made him feel as close to normal as he could be. They were all still strangers, but there was also something easy and natural about being with people who had stuck by him. He had good friends who had missed him—despite whatever feelings might be lingering from his leaving. To find friends who had missed him and who were happy to see him again was all he'd wanted for the last four years. It didn't matter that his teenage days were spent doing insane and impossible things like saving the world.

Harry didn't know what to make of all these stories of heroism and danger. He was sure he didn't do all these things because he didn't possess any measurable amount of talent or bravery. Harry knew he must have had loads of help and a lot of dumb luck—it was the only thing that made sense.

Deciding he'd rather know more about their lives, rather than about dragons, trolls and incredibly stupid things from the past, he decided to change subjects again. Careers were safe subjects, right?

"So what do you all do? What jobs do wizards have?"

"You and me are Aurors," said Ron. "Hermione teaches Charms at Hogwarts and Ginny plays Quidditch."

"Quidditch?"

Another rare smile flickered across Ginny's face. Apparently mocking him or talking about her job were the two things that would bring her out of her shell. "Yeah. It's a game played on broomsticks. You used to play seeker for Gryffindor house's team and you were captain in your sixth year—you were really good."

"And you play Quidditch professionally?" Harry asked, trying to wrap his head around the concept of a game played on brooms. "That's your job?"

She nodded, even looking a little proud of herself. "I play chaser for the Harpies. It's an all-girls team. We're doing fairly well this year."

"You almost lost to the Cannons," Ron added grumpily, which made Ginny roll her eyes.

Harry was sincerely impressed. As a sports journalist, he knew the life of a professional athlete was a grueling job. Sure, there were a lot of positives to the job, there was plenty of glamour and excitement, but there was also pressure from the fans, the league, and the coaches. There was the fear of career-ending injuries and concerns with money, stats and one's contract.

"Wow, that must be a busy life. And James goes with you on your away-games?"

Harry noticed a visible change in Ginny at the mention of James and he wondered why that was. Was she anxious to avoid the subject of their son? He didn't think this question was at all inappropriate or uncomfortable. He definitely had a right to know what James did while his mother was leading a hectic and busy life. He knew all about the adoring fans, the long game grinds, the travelling, the stress, and the wild lifestyle of the younger athletes. Harry doubted that Ginny was leading such a wild and crazy life, but still…

Ginny was visibly tensed in her chair, but her voice was calm as she spoke. "Sometimes. I've got hired-help who looks after him if I'm just gone for a short while. Sometimes I bring him with me on the longer trips."

"Georgia is great with him," Hermione added brightly, glancing between Harry and Ginny nervously. She seemed to sense the icy tension in the room. "And James adores her! Ginny was really lucky to find Georgia to help her out all these years."

Harry knew that Hermione didn't mean to offend him and that she was just commenting on how good this Georgia-person was with his son. Really, he should be relieved that Ginny had good help. Maybe he was just being sensitive and stupid, but these words didn't sit well with him. The words stung and made him feel like the dead-beat dad he was. The truth of the matter was that Ginny was lucky to have found Georgia, since she didn't have her husband around. Another desperate urge to meet James and to be the father he never was rose up in him. He had to see James and he didn't want to wait much longer.

"When can I meet him?" Harry asked, emboldened by his feelings of inadequacy.

Judging by her reaction, not anytime soon. Ginny really didn't want to talk about James…

Ginny was sitting very straight, her expression hard. She was avoiding his gaze, but she didn't look guilty—she looked pissed. Ron and Hermione sat in silence, waiting for Ginny to answer. Harry appreciated their silence as it would put pressure on Ginny to speak first. Ginny had to know that she couldn't keep putting off that meeting between father and son. What was her problem? Why was it so terrible that he was asking about James?

"I'm not sure," Ginny finally said, keeping her voice light. "I have to talk to him first. I don't want to spring this on him."

Irritated, Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Ginny, he'll be thrilled to meet Harry," Hermione said in a gentle voice. "You always say he asks about his dad!"

Harry's heart throbbed in his chest. James asked about him? What sort of questions did he ask? And more importantly, what answers was he getting? He doubted that Ginny might be filling his kid's head with lies and mean comments, but all the same, it made him paranoid not knowing what these conversations were like.

"I know," Ginny agreed curtly. "I just want a little time, okay?"

Time? How much time was she talking about? Hours? Days? Weeks?

Harry suddenly feared that Ginny might opt for a custody battle and he knew enough about those things that they so rarely went in the favour of the father, not when Ginny was an excellent mother and provider. And especially since as far as the court would know, Harry willingly had abandoned his family four years ago. It was public scandal—it had happened four years ago, and yet people still stared and gave him dirty looks!

"I won't wait for long. I need to meet him, Ginny," Harry warned her, feeling so angry he was shaking.

Ginny turned an icy glare on him and her fingers gripped the arms of the chair so hard that her knuckles turned white. "That doesn't mean you deserve to," she snapped viciously, eyes flashing. She sounded as angry as she looked, too. "Harry, I need a little time to talk to James. To explain that you're back and who you are. I'm not saying you won't meet him—I'm saying let me talk to my son first."

Harry and Ginny glared at each other, the seconds ticking by. Harry was thinking very hard, trying to come up with an argument that would justify his right to see his son sooner rather than later. However, it was hard to think logically, when all he wanted to do was yell and tell she was being over-protective and unfair. She knew why he hadn't been here for the last four years so why was she acting like Harry had willingly walked out on her?

Ron held up his hands to call for peace, keeping his voice calm. "Ginny, Harry does deserve to meet James. If magic was used to make him leave, then technically he was abducted. You can't hold him at fault for that."

Ginny got to her feet, her mood swinging from anger to hysterics so suddenly that it was startling. "Ron, all I'm asking for is a chance to speak to my son and to explain things. It's my job to protect him! He's probably heard all about Harry's return at nursery school! I'm not keeping James from you, Harry," Ginny said, her voice quivering slightly as she turned her icy gaze back to him.

"You sound like you are every time you call him 'your son,'" Harry retorted. "He's my son, too!"

"Forgive me if I don't necessarily believe you. You might not remember what you said when you left, but you made it crystal clear that me and James were not welcome in your life."

Hermione stood up, looking desperate to calm everyone down. "Ginny—"

"Oh, that's right," Ginny cried, throwing her hands up. "Take Harry's side. No one gives a shit about what I want or how I'm feeling. No one wants to consider that I'm doing what's best for James!"

Ginny stormed toward the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. Hermione followed, pleading her to stop and come back.

"I need to go," Ginny huffed, officially sounding more upset than angry now.

Harry hung his head in disappointment and embarrassment. He knew he probably shouldn't be yelling at Ginny, since his best chance to get to know his son was to do things on her terms. He understood that she had to deal with the truth of his disappearance and that it was going to take time for her to trust him again. On the other hand, he so badly wanted to meet James that he didn't care what he had to say or do to get to his son.

Ginny vanished in the green flames and Harry sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry. I pushed her too hard."

Hermione came back slowly, tears shining in her eyes. "Don't worry, Harry," she told him softly. "She's just…" Hermione didn't finish her sentence. Maybe she didn't have a word for what Ginny was. Harry had several—but they weren't very nice.

"I just got angry. I can't remember my own son, but I know I love him," he choked out. "Is that weird?"

Hermione sat beside him again. She took his hands and squeezed them in reassurance. "No, of course not! Ron, get Harry the photo album with James' baby pictures."

Ron pulled out his wand and summoned a thick blue album into the room. He handed it to Harry, who took it in his shaking hands.

"Here. We don't have as many pictures as Ginny, but hopefully it'll make you feel better," Ron said.

Harry opened the album and looked down at the first picture of a baby boy, wrapped up in a fluffy blue blanket. He was surprised, but didn't react to the fact that this picture was moving. The baby wriggled and fidgeted in the blanket, looking up at him almost curiously. Harry didn't care that his eyes filled with tears and that he had a pain in his chest from holding back the sob of joy as he stared at a moving image of his son.

He had a son. He had a real, beautiful baby boy; a boy with dark brown tufts of hair, wide blue eyes and chubby cheeks. Somehow, staring at this picture of James was more unbelievable than dragons, trolls and saving the world.

Harry smiled, wishing his eyes weren't tearing up so much so he could see better. He looked at several pictures of James, some of them with Ginny, some with Hermione, some with Ron, and some with people he didn't recognize. He couldn't stop looking at him, desperate to gain every detail from these photos that he possibly could.

"When you found out Ginny was expecting, you came over with a bottle of champagne. I've never seen you so happy before." Ron said, smiling at the memory. "You got a little too excited, though. You broke my nose when you popped the cork."

Harry glanced up at Ron, chuckling at the thought. Harry turned the page and inhaled sharply to see a photo of him, Ginny and baby James. Ginny was curled into Harry's side, smiling the most beautiful, happy smile. She looked so content and so at peace there next to him. Harry held his son against his chest, in the crook of his arm. James wore a white onesie with a large image of a golden ball with wings. James was staring curiously at the camera with big eyes, waving fat fists in the air. Harry's expression of happiness mirrored Ginny's as he smiled toward the camera, every so often glancing between Ginny and the baby.

They looked happy. Perfect.

They looked like a family.

Whether on purpose or because of magic, Harry had broken up this family. He had broken Ginny's heart, left his son and put an ocean between himself and his family. He had been living an oblivious, happy life with another woman, ignorant to the fact that he was married and had a family who needed him.

Harry touched the picture sadly, suddenly furious with whoever had torn him away from his family. In the photo, Harry looked so happy; so in love with the woman cuddled up next to him. How long after this photo was taken was it before he broke Ginny's heart and left his son?

Harry had forgotten about Ron and Hermione watching until Ron reached down and removed the picture, wordlessly handing it to Harry. Harry took it gratefully and put it in his pocket, having no definite plans what he would do with this photo—he only knew he wanted it. Ginny would probably burn it if she knew he had it.

"She just wants to know you, Harry," Hermione murmured. "Ginny's just… guarded. She's been so careful all these years—maybe too careful. She already gets a lot of attention as a Quidditch player, but she also got a lot of attention when you left. Ginny doesn't trust many people these days. It's like she's put up a wall to protect herself and James from the rest of the world."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. He felt more guilty and more terrible than he ever say. "I know and I get it. I get that my leaving made things hard for her… I just wish that she could see things like you two do. Neither of you look at me like I might hurt you at any given moment. Neither of you look at me like you're afraid of me."

"Neither of us had to go through what she did," Ron reminded him gently. "Harry, my sister loved you very much. She was broken up when you left her—you can't expect her to just welcome you back with open arms. I'm actually surprised it took her this long to freak out."

"I'm not," Hermione retorted. "Of course Ginny wouldn't want to get angry with Harry. She's worked so hard to just move on. She's not the type of person to waste her life holding a grudge."

Harry was starting worry that Ginny might have changed—she might now be the type to hold a grudge forever. "Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

"Yes," Hermione and Ron said together, though Hermione was faster in her response than Ron. Hermione was more sure of it than he was. Although, Hermione sounded sure about everything…

"Harry, tell us about your life," Hermione said slowly. "What have you been doing for the last four years?"

The way she said it made it seem more important than simple curiosity about his life. "Is that what Ginny wants to know? Is she worried about what I might do in the future, since I have another life?"

Hermione winced and Harry knew that he'd guessed right. He imagined telling Ginny about Sam. He knew the result would be to watch his chances of meeting James fluttering out of his reach again.

"Maybe," she admitted. "I mean… I don't know for sure, but it's probably a big concern for her. Ginny has always wanted stability for James. She might be really worried what would happen if she lets you into James' life and you disappear again."

Harry waited a long time before answering. He hadn't really factored this into his own feelings about meeting James. Would James be hurt if Harry went back to New York? Was the option of not meeting his father much worse than only seeing him from time to time?

And then there was Sam and his whole life back home to consider. He could stay and be a father to James, but what would happen to Sam and his life? He'd have to give up everything he knew and everything he'd worked for in the last four years. A third issue was the unknown element of the equation: his memories. If he got his memories back, how would that affect things? He loved Sam now, but would he still love her if he remembered how much he loved Ginny?

Having lived the last four years surrounded by unknowns had made him a little crazy. He hated not knowing and it made him incredibly anxious to have to take risks where the outcome was unknown. He had enough of unknowns in his personal life—it made him always prefer the simple, clear path. Since he had no control over his past, he had to know where he was going and what the future held.

Answering Hermione felt like choosing between Ginny and Sam, and this made him feel extremely anxious. "I don't know. Right now, all I can focus on is James and getting my memories back."

Hermione bit her lip, glancing at Ron before trying again. "Harry, I know it's hard. I'm guessing you have a job, a girlfriend, a home back in New York?"

Harry nodded, not really wanting to discuss Sam with his sister-in-law. He already felt like a dead-beat dad—he didn't want to consider the moral issue of dating Sam while he was still a married man.

"Well, you need to think about these things. It's not just James and Ginny who are affected by your choices—your girlfriend back home, your job… you'll have to choose." Hermione sounded gentle and concerned as she spoke, but it still managed to spur Harry's oncoming anxiety attack.

Harry closed the album and set it aside, not wanting to have Ginny and James grinning up at him and making him feel worse. "I know, but how am I supposed to make any decisions? I have no idea what's right! I have no idea who I am!"

Ron frowned. "Okay, and what if St. Mungo's can't help you? What if they can't get you your memories back and you still don't know who you are? What will you do? Will you leave and go back to New York?"

When Harry didn't answer, Hermione leaned in and gave him a hug. "Harry, I can't imagine being in your position…" she whispered sadly. She pulled back, looking incredibly hesitant before adding, "But I think I support Ginny and her reluctance to really let you into her life, if you can't promise any of us that you'll be here—even part-time."

"You owe her that much," Ron agreed.

Harry knew they were just trying to help him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they wanted him to give up Sam and move here. They wanted him to give up everything and come back to London to be a wizard and a hero and father—all things that Harry had no idea how to be.

"Sam is the reason that I'm still sane," Harry finally said, trying very hard not to get angry with them. "I love her. But I admit that James changes things…"

Both Hermione and Ron looked relieved to hear him say this. Harry imagined ending things with Sam and moving here permanently, but the idea made him feel sick. Then again, he supposed they wouldn't _have _to break up if Sam agreed to move here with him…

"So you would stay here… and live as a wizard?" Hermione asked tentatively. "You wouldn't leave again?"

She wanted an answer now? Didn't he already make it clear that he did not want to make the decision—that he could not make this decision?

"I don't know! I don't know how to be this person you're talking about. I don't know how to be a wizard, or a hero, or a father, or a husband! I don't think I can make decisions for this person—I'm not that Harry anymore!"

"You're not two people, Harry," Ron countered in exasperation. "You've lived one way for twenty-two years and another way for four years, but you can't seriously believe you can go on living like a muggle, away from your family and your friends."

"Harry, we know who you are," Hermione said, searching his face desperately. "We know where you belong and what you truly want."

"No, you don't," Harry snapped, getting to his feet. "Neither of you know anything about me anymore."

Hermione began to cry as she looked up at him from the couch. "Harry—"

"Please don't ask me to make this decision right now. I don't know if I can give everything up when there's a really good chance I'm going to fail. Maybe James is better off without me. Maybe Ginny is right to keep him from me! If I never get my memories back, I'll never fit in here!"

"You know the truth about who you really are!" Ron said hotly. "You can't possibly fit in back New York! Not now! What if you use magic accidentally? You're not legally able to tell your girlfriend anything about magic or the wizarding world! How the hell do you expect to go back to New York and live a normal life? You'd be living a lie!"

The venom in Ron's voice on the word 'girlfriend' made him sound really bitter and angry. Suddenly, it wasn't just Ginny who was letting out pent-up anger and disappointment. It turns out Ron still had some left, too…

"No one knows how to be a father," Hermione exclaimed worriedly. "It's something you learn over time!"

"But I've already ruined everything by leaving. I've broken too many promises and caused too much pain. Ginny can't be in the same room as me and she'll barely look at me when she is. She's reluctant to let me near our son! What if this never gets better? What if I've already screwed my chances at being happy?"

"You haven't!" Hermione cried, jumping to her feet so that they were eye-to-eye.

Ron got to his feet, too. Harry was caught off guard by the anger and power rolling off Ron. Ron towered over him and Harry suddenly was very aware that Ron could still hit him, and likely wanted to. When he spoke, Ron's voice was low, dangerous—threatening.

"That little boy needs you. And I swear to God if you leave James and Ginny one more time because you're afraid, I'll make sure you live to regret that."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped in horror.

"You were the most noble, selfless, brave person I knew. It was infuriating," Ron continued, ignoring Hermione's pleading. "You can be that person again!"

Was that supposed to be a compliment?

"I'm not him anymore! I'm a journalist and I'm from New York! I can't live in a world with trolls and magic and wizards. I can't do this! I've broken every promise I've ever made to the woman I married." He took a breath, shaking his head angrily. "And you know what really hurts? What really makes me think I can't do this? Ginny is the one person who should have never given up on me. But she did."

"Gave up?" Ron retorted. "Harry, you moron, she still loves you! She might have stopped talking about you and she'll never admit it, but the truth is that my sister _never _lost faith in you. And that's why she's so affected by you being here. That's why she's so angry with you! Because she still loves you and she's terrified that you're going to break whatever is left of her heart."

Harry stared at Ron, stunned beyond words. After several long minutes, Harry found his voice again. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I can't even remember her! How terrible is that? She still loves me, but I don't remember her! I can't be the man she married—I'm not him. And I don't want to pretend or try, because if I can't be him for Ginny… it'll make things a whole lot worse."

"You can be him," Ron retorted stubbornly.

Harry rolled his eyes. Stubborn idiot. "Oh, yeah? How?"

"You just need your bloody senses knocked back into you."

There was a brief moment of silence while Harry glared at Ron, his best friend and brother-in-law. And in that brief moment, Harry realized that Ron was being literal. Harry even had the tiniest moment of relief, when he realized he deserved it—if not needed it—and that it was a best friend's duty to help him realize when he was being stupid.

Ron was a good friend.

"Ron—" Hermione began to say in an exasperated voice.

But then Ron punched him and Harry didn't get to hear what Hermione said next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Making Progress**

A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and support! I could not possibly have the strength to continue writing without all you lovely people! (Especially while I'm writing a rather troubled Harry.) I hope you enjoy chapter eight!

I would also like to address something that has confused and upset a startling number of people (judging by PMs and reviews). In the muggle world (aka reality) people suffering from memory loss can retain an emotional pull toward important people. But please remember that in DH, Hermione modified her parents' memories so that they assume alternative identities and they do not know they have a daughter- therefore (in theory), they possess no recognition or any subconscious pull toward Hermione because they've got no clue that they're missing a daughter. In Harry's case, Ginny is a complete and total new person to him- just as Hermione would be to "Wendell and Monica Wilkins." So don't fret: I'll be revealing what's happened to Harry soon (and you can bet I haven't just given everything away). Hopefully this will reassure anyone who is panicking that I've got a plan and I'm not overlooking the psychology courses I've taken- magic is different from amnesia.

Also: I ALWAYS write a happy ending :P

Happy reading!

"Are you mad?!" Hermione shrieked. "You hit him!"

"He deserved it!"

Harry watched as Hermione huffed and swatted at her husband's arm. If he wasn't stunned from being punched in the face, he might have laughed. He got the feeling that Ron and Hermione were a couple who bickered often, though they fought because it made life fun, not because they didn't get along. Ron didn't seem phased by his wife's irritation and truthfully, Hermione wasn't overly angry.

But this didn't stop Hermione from lecturing Ron. "Ronald Weasley, he's your best friend and you haven't seen him in four years! How you could this?"

Flat on his back, Harry listened to Hermione's lecturing, mildly amused by how nonchalant Ron sounded in spite of Hermione's distress. Harry gingerly touched his face where Ron had hit him. He was glad that Ron's fist hadn't knocked out any of his teeth. The skin was hot and already starting to swell, but the punch was well-aimed and well-deserved, so Harry didn't mind. A glance at his fingers revealed a trace of blood, which he promptly wiped on his pants. Ron had a good right hook!

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry reassured her, sitting up slowly and blinking several times. His vision was a tad bleary and his head spun momentarily as he moved, but he felt okay. He sincerely hoped he didn't have another concussion from smacking his head off the floor. Although, if he was hoping for things, he wished that Ron's punch had knocked his memories back into him, along with his senses. But of course, Harry didn't have that kind of luck.

Hermione watched as Harry slowly got to his feet, her expression pained. "Ron, look at his face! Oh, Harry…"

"Does it look bad?" Harry asked, wondering if Hermione could just use magic to fix him up. He really didn't want to spend the next week looking like he'd been in a bar fight, especially if he was going to meet his son soon. He dabbed at his cheek with his shirtsleeve, though he was barely bleeding.

"I'll get you some ice," Hermione said, hurrying out of the room.

The moment Hermione had gone into the kitchen, Harry glanced at Ron, feeling stupid for his earlier outburst. Ron no longer looked angry, just a little sheepish now that they were alone in the room.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, embarrassed that he'd needed to be punched in the face in order to calm down. "I needed that."

Ron smiled a little and shrugged. "No problem."

Harry and Ron sat opposite each other, though neither of them spoke. Hermione returned with a bag of ice wrapped up in a dishtowel. She handed it to Harry and sat next to him again.

"Are you sure you're alright? It looks painful."

"I'm fine," Harry said, gratefully accepting the ice. The moment he pressed the bag to his face, he felt immediate relief. "I've faced a dragon, right? I bet those injuries were way worse."

Ron grinned in amusement, but Hermione didn't find it funny at all. Harry quickly suppressed his own amusement so as not to upset Hermione anymore. He supposed that Hermione was worried about him getting mad and leaving again.

"I feel better," Harry said. "I sort of… lost it for a minute there."

"It's understandable," Hermione said quickly, throwing Ron another dirty look. "We're just looking out for you, Harry. You know that, right? We didn't mean to put all this pressure on you! We're just really worried about you and Ginny. You both have been through so much…"

"I know, but you're right. I do have to think about all these things. As much as I don't want to think about the future, I know I have to."

"But we also realize that you need time to let all of this sink in. This can't be easy for you! You might not remember who you are, but we do. We know that ultimately, you'll make the right decision; you always do." Hermione looked at Ron again. "And you still haven't apologized to him!"

It was nice that Hermione had faith in him to do the right thing, especially when he had none in himself. Though he barely knew them, Harry was comforted by the fact that his friendships with Ron and Hermione would take little to no work to repair.

"I'm not sorry," Ron said with a shrug. "He was being a prat—so I hit him."

"Hermione, it's fine," he said quickly, hoping to keep the peace.

Ron grinned slightly. "See? We're good. I feel better—he feels better."

Hermione did not look impressed, but she sighed and seemed to give up pushing Ron to apologize. "I'll never understand the pair of you," she huffed.

The sound of Harry's cell phone ringing made all three of them jump in surprise. Harry pulled out his phone and stared down at Sam's name on his caller id. Harry hesitated, not really in the mood to talk to Sam right now. His face hurt and his head was swimming with thoughts about convincing Ginny to let him see James. He was not in the mood to deal with Sam and telling her anything, but he also knew that he couldn't put it off much longer.

"Go ahead," Hermione said quickly. "Answer it. You can take it in the next room."

Harry very nearly ignored the call, but then decided to just get it over with. The longer he put it off, the worse it would be. Besides, if he dealt with this now, he could focus on Ginny and James. Besides, he should just do it now, when he still had his senses (thanks to Ron).

"Okay," he decided, not bothering to hide his reluctance. "I'll be right back." Harry stood and quickly exited the room before he answered the phone. "Hey," he said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Hi!" Sam sounded happy at the other end of the line, which quickly made him feel a twinge of guilt at his own lack of enthusiasm. "I know this call is probably going to cost me a few hundred bucks, but I don't care. How are you? How's the search going?"

Despite not wanting to answer the phone, Harry had to admit that it was nice to hear her voice. As he was thrust into a life that wasn't his and feeling out of place, hearing Sam's voice made him feel grounded. Talking to her was such a normal, everyday thing that felt like a relief from all this craziness; talking to her didn't involve dark magic, fictional creatures or intimidating tasks such as needing to learn how to be a wizard and a father. There was so much to say, and yet most of it he couldn't tell her or didn't want to discuss. As quickly as he'd felt the relief, these feelings reverted back into a source of stress.

"Um, well, it's going okay…"

Great, Harry, a vague answer—that won't encourage her to ask lots of questions that you can't answer.

"You've made progress?" She asked, sounding a little surprised. Harry remembered how against Sam had been with this trip and how little faith she'd had in him. He wondered if she felt bad about that now, considering he'd actually achieved something. "That's great! What have you found out?"

Harry scrubbed his face with his free hand, trying to figure how what to tell her. Well, I'm married and I have a son. Oh, and I'm a famous wizard. But no, I haven't found out anything life-altering, terrifying or strange.

"Harry?" Sam prompted when he didn't respond.

"It's a long story…" Harry finally said with a nervous laugh. Tell her. Just tell her. You owe her the truth. She stuck by you and supported you, no matter how infuriating or obsessive you were—she doesn't deserve to be lied to for any length of time.

"I don't mind a long story. My bank account might mind, but I don't," she said with a laugh.

Harry grimaced, deciding to leave the worst part of the conversation to the end. He did not want to tell her over the phone, but he didn't have much of a choice. Then again, telling her over the phone might be the safer alternative. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that this would be their worst fight yet, maybe even their last.

If Sam had been pissed about his leaving, she would be far more upset to learn that her boyfriend was married and had son. She would be angry and jealous and heartbroken to learn that Sam had unknowingly been the 'other woman' all these years.

Not ready to tell her yet, he decided to talk about Ron and Hermione.

"I managed to find my two best friends from school: Ron and Hermione," he told her, unable to sound as pleased as he actually was. Finding Ron and Hermione was good news, but in his current nervous, slightly nauseous state, it sounded like he regretted it. Luckily, Sam didn't notice his lack of enthusiasm.

"Hermione?" Sam repeated amusedly. "That's a name you don't hear very often. Anyway, that's exciting! What are they like? Are they happy to see you again?"

"Ron wasn't at first, but he came around." Harry reached up to touch his sore cheek, wishing he'd brought the ice with him. "They're really nice people. I can see why I was friends with them."

"I guess it's normal that Ron might hold it against you for being gone so long," Sam said reasonable. "I'm sure he will forgive you. After all, a head injury is definitely a good reason for why you can't remember them."

Harry rolled his eyes, wishing things were as simple as a head injury…

"Yeah," Harry agreed distractedly. He was trying to think of the easiest and gentlest way to tell Sam the truth, but he couldn't think properly. He couldn't seem to get past his worrying about her reaction and how terrible the aftermath would be.

"So what else is new?" Sam prompted conversationally. "You're so quiet! I miss you! Talk to me!"

"Well, they've been telling me a lot about my past. My parents died when I was a baby and I was raised by my aunt and uncle," Harry said, stalling for time.

"Oh, no!" Sam exclaimed. "Honey, I'm so sorry. That's terrible news!"

"Yeah, I didn't expect to hear that…"

In the next room, Hermione was laughing at something Ron had said. Harry glanced toward the sound of Hermione's laughter and Ron's deep murmuring voice. He felt a deep longing to be apart of that conversation— to be in that room instead of dealing with this really difficult situation. It was beginning to occur to him that in the last four years, even his closest friends were not that close to him. He had no desire to call Andrew or Julia, or any of his other friends from work. He wondered if he ever made the decision to move here, would he even miss them? On the other hand, he was sure that he would miss Ron and Hermione if he decided to stay in New York. Ron and Hermione had known him since childhood—his whole life was here with them. The thought of returning to New York and living away from the people who knew the real him made him feel queasy.

"So I guess your childhood wasn't the best that it could have been," Sam said sympathetically. "If I were you, I might even be a little relieved I don't remember the bad stuff."

Harry ignored her last comment, disagreeing with her completely because he wanted to know everything—the good, the bad, and the terrible. He believed that all these things made up one's identity and he had no memories of anything. Fortunately, this comment gave him some strength to be able to tell her about Ginny and James.

"And there was something else they told me… something rather shocking. I'm not sure what to do with this information right now," he blurted, his tongue suddenly feeling rather cottony.

Tell her. Just be a man and tell her.

Sam sensed his tone and Harry could tell that she was bracing herself for the news. When she spoke, her voice was calm, careful and slow. "Something worse than finding out about your parents?"

Harry shifted the phone to his other ear, staring up at the ceiling as he braced himself to say the words that he knew would further pull the rug out from under him. Telling Sam might mean losing his pillar of support and understanding. Their relationship might not have been perfect, but they'd been together four years… No matter how many fights they'd had, Sam wasn't just any girl.

"I found out I'm married," Harry admitted softly.

There was a very long, terrible silence that followed these words. Harry stood very still, listening to her quickening breathing on the other end. Any minute now, she would start to cry and Harry would feel that terrible helplessness that he always felt when she cried.

"Are you serious?" Sam asked weakly, her voice quivering. "You're married?"

Why? Why had someone done this to him? Why had someone used magic to rip him away from his family? Why had someone decided to do something so cruel; something that would hurt so many people? What had he done to deserve this? And it wasn't just him—Sam, Ginny, James, Ron, Hermione… what had they done to deserve this?

"Yes," Harry said, his heart beating very fast in his chest. "And I have a son. He's four… his name is James."

"Oh my god," Sam cried loudly, unable to hold back anymore.

Harry listened to her cry for what felt like hours, hating himself and the unknown person who had made him hurt her. He had hurt too many people and coming back here, finding the truth… all of it seemed to be causing more pain. Maybe he should have accepted his fate and made the best of things? He would suffer from the endless unknowns of who he was, but at least Sam and Ginny wouldn't hurt anymore. Life would have gone on and the past would have been left alone, undisturbed and bearable.

"I just… I don't really know what to say…" Sam sobbed. "You're married? You have a son…"

There was nothing to do but apologize. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

"We've been together for four years," Sam exclaimed. "And all this time you've been married! You have a family! And I've always wanted that with you! I thought if I waited long enough…" She broke off into heavy sobs.

"I know, I'm sorry," he pleaded, feeling his own tears well up in his eyes. He was breaking her heart—he'd now broken the hearts of two women in his life.

"Maybe that's why you could never commit… maybe part of you remembered you already had that with someone else?" Sam suggested miserably. "And I don't mean that to sound bitchy… but maybe it explains why you and I never reached that stage. I just kept hoping and waiting that you'd want what I wanted."

"I don't know," Harry replied quietly, not really wanting to discuss the psychology of his behavior of the last four years.

Sam managed to calm herself after several long minutes. When she was calm enough to speak, she asked: "So… what happens now?"

As he thought about his answer, Harry moved slightly so that he could see Ron and Hermione sitting together, talking about something that he couldn't hear. He knew Sam was asking what was going to happen next with their relationship; a question he really didn't want to think about right now. Mostly this was because he didn't have an answer. He didn't know what was going to happen with his own life in the next week so how was he supposed to make big life decisions about the next few years? Harry didn't want to think at all—his mind was a one-track mind now and James was all that mattered.

"What do you mean?" He asked, wanting more time to think. He knew exactly what she meant, but playing dumb was just easier.

"I mean you're married… so that sort of makes our relationship complicated, at best. At worst, it means we're breaking up." Sam was beginning to sound short and cold, quickly turning from crying to taking up a defensive position.

"I know," Harry said. "I'm so sorry that it's so complicated. I do love you. I never expected that this would happen. I'm so confused and I'm having such a hard time accepting all of this." He paused, listening to her silence.

Harry hated silence.

"It's not like I'm in love with Ginny and I'm planning on tossing what we have away. But all that matters right now is my son. I need to know him and until I do that, I can't come home."

Sam was still quiet, so Harry continued talking. He was hoping that she could at least appreciate, if not understand, his situation. Harry wasn't even sure he could properly explain himself, but he had to try. He felt a deep, desperate need to meet James and to connect with him, and this need to be around James was greater than getting his memories back.

"Ginny won't talk to me. I haven't had a chance to talk to her and figure things out. She won't even let me see James! And that's all I can think about right now—meeting James. I have to meet my son."

"Okay," Sam said finally. Harry supposed she was trying to sound icy and angry, but really, he just heard the pain in her voice. "So… you'll have a chat with this woman? She sounds delightful, by the way," Sam said, getting snippy again. "She won't let you see your own kid? Does she know about me yet?"

Jealousy was such a vicious, terrible thing. Harry had seen Sam jealous before and it was not pretty. And even though he couldn't see her now, he could hear it in her voice; Sam was jealous of Ginny. Jealous because Ginny had what she wanted with him, but couldn't have. Harry wasn't stupid; Sam had been hinting at marriage for the last year and a half. He'd always known that Sam wanted the house, the kids, and the happily ever after, but Harry had always put it off because he didn't want to commit to a future when he didn't know his past.

Trying to keep his voice calm was difficult. Harry hated it when she got jealous. Jealousy was always accompanied by a lack of reason and meanness. "No, I haven't told her, but I told you that it's because we haven't talked. I've seen Ginny for about a total of twelve minutes. She stormed out a little while ago, refusing to let me near James."

Sam seemed to be debating whether or not he was telling the truth. In the end, she apparently accepted that he wasn't lying or exaggerating. "Fine, but will you talk to her? Tell me what you're going to say."

How the hell was he supposed to know what he was going to say?

"I'll tell her the truth—like I'm telling you now. I hate that I've hurt both of you so badly. Ginny and I will talk about seeing James and getting to know him, because that's the most important thing. James is more important than getting my memory back—he's the most important thing."

"Harry, at what point do you come home? After you go to court to get custody of the kid? After you spend a year with him?"

He knew that Sam was hurting and that she would regret being so bitter, but he was angry at Sam for saying 'kid' like James was some bastard offspring; dirty and unwanted. Sam had a right to dislike Ginny on principle and he was ultimately going to ignore any mean comments she might have for Ginny, but insinuating anything mean or negative about James was something he would not stand for.

Still, he fought to control his temper. If he started yelling at Sam, Ron and Hermione would hear it and he didn't want that. He wanted to keep his issues with Sam quiet, to avoid having the whole Weasley-clan discussing how fucked up his life was.

"I don't know," he said simply, not trusting himself to say anymore than this. "I love you," Harry repeated, but his voice was hard. "I don't want to pick up where I left off with Ginny. All I want is to get to know James."

"Well, that's not what I'm asking you," Sam snapped, sounding a little hysterical. "Will you ask her for a divorce?"

Divorce.

It was such an angry, miserable, and depressing word. Asking Ginny for a divorce seemed like such a terrible thing. Besides, if he demanded a divorce, he was sure that Ginny would pull away from him even more, which would really hurt his chances of seeing James.

And divorces could be devastating for kids. It made sense, of course, to legally be separated from Ginny, but he would not do anything that might keep him from his son.

"Well?" Sam said irritably.

Harry didn't want to talk about divorce with Sam—that was a conversation between him and Ginny, and it was not a priority. It wouldn't matter if he got divorced tomorrow or in several months, but that's not how Sam would see it. That's not how any girl would see it. Sam wanted him to choose her and no amount of reassurance would convince her of his choice.

He knew how much his answer mattered to Sam and their relationship, but right now, he wasn't going to consider a divorce or bring it up with Ginny. Demanding a divorce was not a good idea right now. He needed to get on Ginny's good side and convince her that his intentions were good.

"Sam, my priority right now is to see James," Harry repeated firmly. "I'm exhausted and confused. People keep telling me all these things about my life and who I'm supposed to be, and my mind is on overload. One step at a time, please…"

Sam's silence was deafening. Harry grimaced at the opposite wall, imagining her face. Yep, she was pissed.

"Okay," she finally said in a lifeless voice.

Harry hated her silence almost as much as her jealousy. "Sam, please… please try to understand what sort of situation I'm in. I've already hurt her and I've hurt my son. I don't want to make it worse. And I really don't want to get into a custody battle. I need to fix things with Ginny so I can see James. And then I'll figure everything else out, I promise."

Sam took nearly a full sixty seconds to reply. And when she finally spoke, her voice sounded odd. He was having trouble trying to figure out what emotion she was fighting right now.

"I know. You're thinking of your son," Sam said. "It's just hard for me… I'm here and you're there." Sam sighed heavily. "Harry, I need to go… I need to go for a walk and clear my head."

Harry rubbed his face with his free hand in frustration. Part of him was relieved that this phone call was ending, but the other part of him was speaking a warning that bad things were coming. "Alright. Sam, I am sorry," he told her as sincerely as he could. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Yes, later," Sam agreed distractedly.

"I love you," Harry told her, but she'd already hung up.

Harry clutched his cell phone tightly in his hand, hating that they couldn't talk properly; hating that they were so far apart. He hoped that she didn't start a fight via text message—he hated those. He was feeling angry and frustrated, and his mood was made worse by the fact that his face still hurt.

The moment Harry had learned he was a married man, he'd known deep down that it would be incredibly difficult to convince Sam to stick around long enough for him to sort it out. Sam would be distrusting of his ability to end things, even if Ginny herself told Sam that she had no desire to be married anymore. Even if Ginny had gotten a divorce and was remarried—Sam was not a forgive-and-forget type of person. That, on top of the fact that their relationship was already rocky, meant his chances of fixing things with Sam were slim.

The only question now was how long before his relationship blew up in his face. Harry glared at the phone in his hand, feeling helpless to fix this. Nothing he said or did would repair the damage that had been done. What made him feel worse was his guilt because right now, he wasn't even sure that he wanted to fix this. His mind was still set on having his son in his life. As much as he loved Sam, if he had to pick between them, James would win.

This was an incredibly strange and oddly satisfying thought: that James, a mere child whom he had never met, had this much pull in his decision-making.

Harry knew he was heading for rock bottom at an alarming rate. Ginny hated him and was refusing to let him see James. He was expecting James to harbor feelings of distrust, abandonment and negativity toward him. Sam was heartbroken and would refuse to be of any sort of support for him, until he could inform her of his impending divorce. And while things were good with Ron and Hermione, his other friends and the rest of his family would probably forever harbor feelings of disappointment and distrust for him.

"I'm so fucked," Harry grumbled, shoving his phone back in his pocket. If and when he ever found out who had taken his memories and sent him to New York, he was going to make sure that this person was punished for their actions.

A new, rather breathless voice startled Harry from where he stood in the kitchen.

"Harry! Is he here? I just saw in the paper and I couldn't believe it!"

Grateful for the distraction, Harry returned to the living room to see who had come to see him. An older woman with red hair, wearing a flowery apron and faded, long, purple robes stood opposite him. She gaped at him with a very shocked expression.

"It's true," the woman whispered in wonder. But then her eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. Harry suddenly felt small, like he was a kid about to be berated by his mother. "So you're back, are you?"

"It's not what you think, Molly," Hermione said quickly, hurrying between the woman called Molly and Harry. "Sit down, we'll explain everything."

Harry came and sat down, glad to at least be distracted from the phone call. He might have to sit through another one of these awkward revelation-conversations, but it was better than enduring listening to sobs over the phone.

"Harry, this is my mum," Ron said, as Hermione quickly explained everything. "Molly Weasley."

Once Hermione had finished, Harry sheepishly took her that it was nice to meet her. Molly let out a strangled cry and then tugged him forward into the tightest, but warmest hug he could ever remember receiving.

"Hello," Harry gasped, trying very hard to get air into his lungs.

"Oh, Harry, dear…" Molly cried happily. "I'm so relieved… so happy…" She pulled back and patted his cheek affectionately. "Look at you! You look so different! Well, you must feel different! Poor dear, this is just terrible!"

She said all this very fast, keeping one hand squeezing his.

"Thank you," Harry said, pleased by her warm greeting. It was nice that Molly, much like Hermione, had accepted the truth so quickly. "So, you're my mother-in-law?"

Molly flushed and nodded. "Yes, dear. And what in Godric's name has happened to your face?

Harry hesitated and Ron actually chuckled, drawing his mother's attention. Apparently, Molly was very intuitive and she gave her son a reproachful stare.

"It's fine," Harry reassured her, smiling in spite of himself.

Molly returned her attention to Harry, although she looked like she wanted to say something. Instead of scolding Ron as Hermione did, she asked: "Where is Ginny?" The concern in Molly's voice reminded Harry the implications of Molly being his mother-in-law. For the last four years, Molly was probably responsible for helping her daughter to pick up after the mess he had left. He imagined that Ginny had relied on her mother for help taking care of her infant son and for getting back on her feet.

Harry felt mildly embarrassed and even more relieved that Molly was happy to see him. Really, if anyone should want to hurt him, it should have been Ginny's mother and Ginny herself.

"She was here," Ron said grimly.

Molly didn't seem to need any more explanation to know that Ginny was here and then had left in a hurry. Molly, however, didn't seem too concerned by this news as she quickly smiled at Harry.

"Well, I suppose we should let her cool off. Harry, why don't you tell us about where you've been hiding these last four years!"

Harry gladly answered the questions, though talking about New York made him feel guilty about Sam again. His life had been good for the last four years and not at all grim and overly difficult, as might be determined by his tone. It was difficult to be cheerful when the world felt like it was crumbling beneath his feet. New York no longer felt like a home, but neither did London.

Molly, like Hermione, was very curious and friendly about who Harry was (or who he thought he was). Molly shared many stories about the wizarding world, of what he was like as a kid, and about the adults in his life who had been like parents to him. She talked to him about his godfather Sirius Black and another friend of his father's, Remus Lupin. She told him about Dumbledore and about Hagrid, who had been his mentors and friends. She also offered to help Harry get settled back in his old house, since he needed a proper place to stay. (Molly was horrified by the thought of Harry staying at the Leaky Cauldron for an extended amount of time.)

"Harry, you cannot stay in such a public place! The reporters would find you… you need to be in a place with security measures in place! Your old house is still protected by enchantments."

Mrs. Weasley also brought up the very good point that whoever had taken his memories would have much easier to access to him at the Leaky Cauldron, than if he returned to his old house.

After agreeing to stay in his house, Mrs. Weasley also made him swear that he would attend a celebratory dinner in honour of his return in a few days time. Harry agreed, though he was nervous about meeting the rest of Ginny's brothers, who probably would want to greet him in the same way Ron did. Seeing his nervous expression, Molly kindly promised that she would fill the rest of the family in on the details, so as to avoid any awkwardness or damage to his face. Ron chuckled at his mother's serious tone.

Harry was grateful—being punched one time was helpful, but his life was already turning to shit without having his ass kicked by four other Weasleys.

The rest of the day drifted by in pleasant conversation and a lovely dinner that Hermione and Molly cooked up. Arthur Weasley arrived a little after dinner, though this reunion was much more awkward than meeting Mrs. Weasley. Harry shook Arthur's hand, feeling the tension in the way he glared daggers at him.

While Arthur listened to the truth and seemed to accept it, Harry could see that it didn't fully erase his anger. He supposed he was getting off lucky with just one parent still angry with him and he didn't blame Arthur for his less-than-friendly stares. He imagined that Arthur was rather protective of his only daughter, as he should be. Harry just had to try his best to ignore Arthur's poignant stares of disapproval and dislike, hoping that one-day, he'd be completely forgiven.

When Mr. and Mrs. Weasley finally left that night, it was just after ten. Jetlagged and exhausted from the long day, Harry decided he should probably go to bed. He wanted to be well-rested for tomorrow, when he would find Ginny and beg her to listen to him. Hermione insisted that Harry stay over and she turned the sofa into a bed with a wave of her wand.

Hermione had brought Harry's suitcase over and after changing into faded pajama pants, Harry climbed into bed. He immediately closed his eyes and sighed into the silence. Alone in the dark, his mind began to run through his extensive to-do list. The first items on this seemingly impossible list were to talk to Ginny and to meet with James, but there were many, many other things to consider.

Getting a wand, going to his house, maybe getting some wizard robes, and visiting platform 9 ¾ seemed all very important. He was sure he had other friends to track down and many other people to meet. He also needed to go to St. Mungo's, meet the other Weasleys and hopefully take a trip to Hogwarts, where he'd spent six very significant years of his life.

Harry rolled over, his head swimming as he tried to mentally fit all these things into the next couple of days. The minutes ticked by and Harry began to drift off into sleep, his lids heavy. Footsteps creaked overhead and outside, the leaves of nearby trees rustled in the wind, but other than these soft noises the house was silence.

So when the fireplace blazed to life with green flames, Harry nearly tumbled out of bed in shock. He jerked to a sitting position, his heart beating wildly somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as a figure stepped out and peered around.

"Harry?"

Harry relaxed and turned to put his feet on the floor, breathing a sigh of relief. "Ginny, you scared me!"

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I'd just gone to bed," he replied, squinting in the darkness as she moved to stand by his bed. He felt a little subconscious, even in the dark, to be sitting shirtless only a few feet away from his wife. He watched her warily, wondering why she'd come back here and what she wanted to talk about.

"Is it okay if we talk?" She asked in a hopeful voice.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Of course." He stood and went to get a shirt from his suitcase. He didn't really care about being shirtless, but as he desperately wanted Ginny to respect him, he wanted to be fully dressed for this conversation.

Ginny was already back at the fireplace. "We'll go back to my place so we don't wake Ron and Hermione."

Harry followed her, tugging a green T-shirt over his head. Ginny handed him some Floo powder and gave him the address. She disappeared in a whirl of green flames and Harry quickly followed. When his feet hit the grate, he found himself a very cozy living room. The walls were filled with photographs for the most part. On the far right wall was a very large framed image of a golden talon on a green canvas, and the words HOLYHEAD HARPIES below it.

"I know it's late… but I wanted to talk and I didn't want to wait until morning," said Ginny. Her mouth fell open as she stared at him, wide-eyed. "What the hell happened to your face?"

Harry reached up to touch his still-swollen cheek. Molly Weasley had managed to cure most of it, but he knew it was still a tad purple. "Ron…" he said by way of explanation.

"Oh," Ginny said, blinking in confusion, but she let the subject drop.

Harry took his eyes off the image and offered Ginny a friendly smile. "No, it's okay. I wanted to talk, too."

Ginny wordlessly gestured that he should sit on the sofa and Harry did so, feeling very glad that Ginny had wanted to talk to him so badly. He didn't care if he was exhausted tomorrow; if she wanted to talk all night, he would do it, jetlagged be damned.

Ginny was looking at him funny, but not saying anything. Harry pretended not to notice her eyes on him, so he forced himself to look around.

"Your house is nice," Harry complimented.

"Thanks," she said, her voice catching as she crossed her legs and pointed vaguely at him. "That shirt… I bought that for you."

Harry glanced from his shirt and back to Ginny, surprised. "Really?"

She nodded quickly, her lips pursed. "I didn't think you took much with you when you left… I guess it would make sense to bring your muggle clothes."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure of what to say to break this awkward silence. He thought Ginny might be ready to tear up to see him wearing a shirt that she had bought him so many years ago. If she started to cry, Harry wasn't sure what he would do. He barely knew what to do when Sam cried; comforting Ginny was even more foreign to him.

"I figured we should talk," Ginny suddenly said, sitting up a little straighter and taking a deep breath.

"First, I wanted to say that I'm sorry for storming off on you. That was immature and unnecessary…" she took another breath, holding his gaze determinedly. "I just want you to know that I realize I can't blame you for leaving, but it's difficult for me to remember that when I'm around you. I look at you and I just have this flood of emotions and memories…" she shook her head darkly and trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish that sentence.

Harry was about to open his mouth to tell her that he understood, but she interrupted him. "Anyway, the second I came home, I realized I was being stupid. But I've had time to calm down and I'm going to try to do better—for James. I want him to know you." She paused for the briefest of seconds before adding, "and I want you to know him."

Hearing this made Harry feel so relieved that he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Ginny wanted James to meet him and get to know him—this was the best news he'd heard all day.

"Thank you," Harry said quickly. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

Ginny smiled, but it looked a little pained. "Anyway, I brought you here so we can talk a bit. If this is going to work, we need to—I need to—learn to be civil. But to be civil…there's something I need to know."

"Okay," he agreed, willing to be complacent with her. That was, as along as he wasn't going to be restricted from James. He was ready to agree to almost anything she said, if it meant he could be around James.

"And for the record, I am sorry for how I acted, too. You've had four years to think one way about why I left. But I really am going to be here for James—if you don't believe anything else I say, you can believe that."

"If you're anything like who you used to be, I can believe it," Ginny said, smiling slightly. "And you do seem like the old you."

This surprised Harry. Did she really see traits of who he used to be? The idea that he was similar to his past self was a nice one because it meant that he didn't have to try to be someone else. He wanted to ask her what it was she thought was the same, but decided he'd ask later.

Ginny took a breath and folded her hands in her lap. "The reason I'm a little hesitant about you meeting James is because I don't want him to get hurt. He's young and I don't want him to get the wrong idea about suddenly having you in his life."

"What do you mean by the wrong idea?" Harry asked slowly, a little offended that Ginny seemed honestly concerned about letting him in.

Ginny wasn't phased by his tone. She looked him straight in the eye as she said, "James deserves to have stability and I've worked really, really hard to make sure he has that."

"Ginny, I swear, all I want is to meet him and spend a little time with him…"

"Harry, I want you to promise me that no matter what happens in the future, you will be around for him. Scheduled visits every week and that you'll spend time with him. If you're going to be in James' life, he needs you to be a father all the time, not just when you have time or when it's convenient."

"Of course I will!" Harry exclaimed, definitely hurt now. "What makes you think I would just be there when it's convenient?"

"Harry, you have a whole other life now. I'm asking you to promise so that you'll still be in his life even if you return to New York. What if you get married? What if you have a family?" Ginny pressed calmly. "If one day you've got your own family, I want to know that James will still be a priority. I don't ever want him to feel unloved or unwanted. I want him to know that his father loves him and would drop everything for him."

"I promise!" Harry said firmly.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you," Ginny replied gently. "Or offended you," she added, regarding his expression. "With James, I just have to ask for an all or nothing."

Harry took a moment to respond, staring at her in disbelief. Part of him was offended and he wanted to tell her that she shouldn't expect him to disappoint his son, but the other part was remembering how afraid of him she had been back at the Leaky Cauldron. He knew that whatever he had said or done when he'd walked out the door had really hurt her. She was being cautious because of how he had acted. Moreover, she was being this cautious because she was protecting her son, and Harry respected the hell out of that.

"I understand. And I'm all in," he told her.

Ginny smiled, pleased. "Thank you. I told James you're back and that you want to meet him," Ginny continued, relaxing a little. "I told him that you'd be here tomorrow morning and he seemed excited."

"Is he?" Harry forgot about feeling offended, distracted by the fact that his son was excited to meet him. "What did he say?"

"Not much, but I could tell it was on his mind all evening. His face lit up and he asked a bunch of questions about you."

Suddenly Harry felt rather nervous. "What sorts of questions?" If James was going to ask the really hard ones, he might need more time to prepare the hard answers. What if James asked why they weren't a family? What if James asked why he had forgotten his family?

"Just about who you are and what sorts of things you like," Ginny said with a shrug. "Easy kid-questions. It's not like you're a totally new person in his life. He's seen pictures of you so he knows what you look like and he knows your story…"

"My story?"

"Yeah, the one every kid hears growing up—about how you defeated Voldemort when you were just a baby. He also knows how you beat him for good when you were seventeen, but that's a newer heroic bedtime story for kids these days." She paused, her expression suddenly softening. "I never kept that stuff away from James—I wanted him to know that his father is a hero."

Harry didn't know what to say. He could tell that she meant it—calling him a hero. Harry still couldn't accept that all these stories about him were true, but he felt incredibly happy and relieved to hear that Ginny hadn't lied about him or anything.

Although Harry wasn't sure he was ready to hear Ginny's account of the day he had left, he did feel it was important to hear the story that James knew. This way, he would be prepared for any questions that might come up. "Can I ask what you did tell him about why I haven't been around?"

"Well, I told him you loved going on adventures and he knows you were an Auror. And so I told him you went on another adventure to be brave and to explore the world—maybe fight some bad guys." Ginny smiled slightly at the 'bad guys' part. "James heard all about your adventures from when you were a kid, so it was an easy story to tell. The stories of The-Boy-Who-Lived are legend… James loves to believe that you left to keep being a hero."

Harry looked at Ginny for a long moment, trying to figure out how he'd gotten so lucky with her. She'd turned a terrible story of abandonment, dark magic and memory loss into one that turned him into the hero of a story, instead of the villain. Ginny could have told James many things and yet she'd opted for a white lie that would keep him from thinking his father was a deadbeat.

Ginny smiled sadly at him. "I guess I'm lucky you came back when you did. His questions would get a lot harder as he got older."

Harry regarded her, admiring her strength and good heart. "I'm sorry it took so long," Harry blurted. "For me to remember you…"

She gave him a funny look before saying, "I thought you don't remember me?"

Harry debated only for a moment whether he should tell Ginny about the dream that had brought him here. But then he decided that perhaps if she knew that it was the memory of Ginny that had broken through the rest, then she might be more inclined to let him into her life and into James' life.

"I had a dream and you were in it—it was my memory of you that got me to London."

Ginny had gone very still and her eyes seemed overly bright in the dim lighting of the living room. "What?" She whispered, looking startled and something else—did she look afraid?

"I was dreaming about a train station; we were at platform number 9 ¾. You were there, boarding a train. When you left on the train, I felt…" Harry broke off, unwilling to admit how anguished he'd felt at her loss. "And when I woke up, I knew I had to find you."

Harry didn't miss the fact that her eyes were shining with unshed tears. Ginny hastily wiped them away and when she spoke, she sounded like she was fighting to keep her voice calm. "Well, hopefully we'll get this all sorted out tomorrow. I've booked you an appointment at St. Mungo's at two," she told him, avoiding his gaze as she struggled to control herself.

Harry got the message that Ginny did not want to talk about that dream, though he did not regret bringing it up. It had made her uncomfortable, but at least now she knew that his subconscious had wanted to come back to her and to their family.

Sensing the discomfort in the room, Harry feared being told to leave, but he wasn't ready to go, not when he and Ginny had barely made progress in building trust between them. Wanting to keep her talking, he asked her to tell him about James.

His ploy worked as Ginny began animatedly sharing every fact and memory that she could think of. Harry tried to focus on memorizing everything, determined to know James before he met him. The more Ginny talked about their son, the more she began to relax and even smile.

And the more questions that Harry asked, the more pleased Ginny became. He supposed that his questions were confirmation of his interest in James, but for Harry, these questions were as vital as breathing.

After nearly an hour, Ginny had reverted back to the warm person he'd gotten a glimpse of back at the Leaky Cauldron. As she talked, Harry realized just how grateful he was that at least James had always had Ginny. Harry had never seen her with his son, but he could tell that James was her whole world. Ginny was hardworking, caring and a loving mother.

And now that he had promised he would be here, Ginny seemed comfortable being around him, and this made him happy. She smiled and laughed and chatted like they'd always been good friends. It was startling how natural he felt talking to her now. The more Harry thought about it, the more his relationship with this woman made sense in his mind.

From what he knew, Ginny had been by his side as he had lived through a rather traumatic and dark past. Moreover, Ginny had gone through her own trials. They probably understood each other and Harry imagined that given what his life had been, he must have found sanctuary with her.

As he laughed at a story, he realized there was no doubt in his mind that he could have been deeply in love with this woman.

When Ginny realized it was nearly two-thirty, she laughed and told him that he should probably go get some sleep before tomorrow.

"I could stay up all night and talk about him," Harry disagreed, but he stood to leave. "It's so strange to feel this way—to feel so strongly about someone I don't know."

"It's because he's your son," Ginny explained gently. "Some part of you already knows him and has missed him."

"All of me is missing him," he corrected her with a sad smile.

Ginny smiled back, their eyes locking for a long moment. Harry was just thinking that she had the most beautiful brown eyes when she averted her gaze and moved to pick up a glass jar of powder off the mantel.

"Does nine work for you?" She asked.

"That's perfect," Harry agreed. "Thank you, Ginny."

When she again met his eyes, a pretty pink blush filled her cheeks. "Thank you for wanting this," she murmured.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said cheerfully, taking a pinch of powder.

"See you tomorrow," Ginny agreed.

Harry reappeared in Ron and Hermione's living room, amazed at how well this day had ended. He glanced backward at the brick wall of the fireplace, almost expecting to see Ginny's living room behind him. This was good. He felt good about this. He could make this work—he WOULD make this work.

He was certain that he would make Ginny trust him again and that it wouldn't take much. She seemed to still like the parts of him that came naturally and with any luck, they could have an arrangement worked out to share James. Maybe one day, they would even visit each other like good, reconciled friends should.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Memory Loss**

**Author's Note: **I just want to apologize from my extended time without an update. I've recently graduated and have started a new job. But I've finally had the time to sit down and finish this chapter. These particular chapters are very difficult to write for many, many reasons and I try to dedicate as much time as possible to do them justice. It's been interesting reading the reviews from the last few chapters—some of which I can't really reply to without giving anything away. Regardless if you've made me enemy number one, I appreciate your thoughts and wish you all Happy Reading!

At precisely 8:59 a.m., Harry was standing at Hermione and Ron's fireplace to go to Ginny's house. He stood at the fireplace, waiting for his watch to change to 9:00, all the while ignoring Ron's teasing comments about being too eager. He'd been ready for over an hour and had been mentally preparing to meet James this waking up this morning. Although both Ron and Hermione were alternating between light, teasing comments and support, there was also an air of tension this morning. And it wasn't just because Harry felt nervous—Ron and Hermione were tense, too, although he had no idea why.

When his watch finally changed to 9:00 a.m., Harry took a breath and said goodbye to his friends.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione called. "Give James a hug for us."

"See you, mate," Ron added.

Without looking back, Harry tossed a handful of Floo powder at his feet and called out Ginny's address. He arrived in Ginny's living room, which was empty, though he could hear the sounds of Ginny doing the dishes nearby. Harry swallowed his nerves and moved toward the sounds, praying that today went well. Regardless of what happened with him and his memories, he wanted and needed James to like him. And of equal importance was that Ginny see that Harry was dedicated to being a parent. He knew that there was no chance in hell that he and Ginny could have any sort of normal relationship until she could trust in his intentions. And as much as he wanted to know Ginny and be able to see her and talk to her, he accepted and respected her need to trust him first.

He felt like an intruder as he walked through the living room feeling and he wished that wizards used the door. Doorbells were a much more polite way to announce one's self, rather than appearing in someone's house and awkwardly wandering about until the guest found the host. Didn't wizards know about doorbells?

The uncomfortable feeling of being out of place made Harry feel heavy-hearted. He was in the presence of his family. _His family_. A family that he'd abandoned; a family he'd known nothing about and a family he'd ripped apart. Harry's stomach churned uneasily at the task ahead of him. He'd been so focused on meeting James that he'd overlooked just how terrifying this was. He was damn lucky that Ginny was even giving him the time of day.

Harry forced himself to follow the sound of water and dishes clattering together in the sink, his heart pounding out an irregular rhythm in his chest. He found Ginny in the kitchen, her back to him as she stood at the sink. Harry hesitated, observing her profile. Her hair hung down her back, a shiny river of red against her black blouse. She wore a beige skirt that almost reached her knees and fluffy boots on her feet. Apparently some muggle fashions did reach women here—Sam had a pair very similar to the pair Ginny wore.

"Hey," he said by way of announcing himself.

Ginny was startled and peered around at him with a bit of alarm. Her expression softened slightly and she turned around, grabbing a dishtowel to dry her hands. "Good morning," she said, looking rather nervous herself.

Neither of them spoke for a very long moment so Harry took to looking around the brightly lit kitchen with the large windows and beautiful marble countertops. Hand-drawn pictures and finger paintings were stuck up on the fridge with colourful alphabet magnets. The kitchen was warm and inviting with a coat of soft yellow paint, white trim and expensive-looking paintings on the wall. Harry found himself feeling relieved that Ginny and James lived in a nice house and that they didn't seem to have struggled financially without the husband and father present.

"This is weird," Harry finally said, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway of the kitchen. "It's weird, isn't it? Me being here?"

Ginny sighed and nodded, raising a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. Harry suddenly realized that their talk last night had done very little to alleviate her feelings of uneasiness. Harry suddenly worried that she'd changed her mind and that she'd sent James somewhere so he couldn't meet him.

Ginny spoke with her eyes on the dishtowel in her hands. "It's very weird, but we have to try and get past all this awkwardness."

Harry relaxed a little at these words. James was here. Harry forced a smile, ready to agree with her. "Yes. We just need to spend time together. We need time."

Ginny met his eyes again. Her tone was cool and formal when she spoke. "Yes," she agreed. "You and James just need to spend some time together."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life only civilly sharing their son. He wanted to make amends with Ginny, be friends, and try to make up for whatever magic had made him do or say to her. She was the better person to be able to overlook everything and let him into her house and near her son. Harry realized he probably hadn't made it clear that spending time with Ginny was important, too.

Deciding that he didn't have much more to lose, he decided to bring it up now. "And what about you and I? I really want to get to know you, too."

Ginny pursed her lips, fidgeting with the dishtowel. "Maybe," she said, but Harry could tell that she really wanted to give him a firm 'no.'

"One step at a time, okay?" She continued wearily. Harry wanted to be stubborn, but her tone made him keep his mouth shut. This was hard enough for Ginny as it was and he didn't want her to push him away. She took a breath and looked confident when she said: "Today is about you meeting James and getting you to St. Mungo's. That's it."

Harry nodded, trying to ignore the sting of rejection he now felt. Before he could feel sorry for himself, he reminded himself that HE was the one who had made her so distrustful and HE was the one who had been away the last four years, living with another woman. Again he felt guilt at not yet having come clean about what his life had been like for the last four years. If he wanted Ginny to trust him, he had to tell her everything.

The sound of movement upstairs startled Ginny and Harry from their all-too-formal conversation, causing them both to look up sharply at the noise. She set the dishtowel down, nervously folding it and pressing it against the counter.

"So, I'll bring him down…" she took a few steps toward him and Harry awkwardly and nervously jumped back to let her pass through the doorway. Unfortunately, it looked more like he was trying to dodge a bullet, the way he moved. His stupidity brought a small smile to her lips.

"Calm down, Harry," she murmured, her voice almost teasing.

His face red, he mumbled something like 'I am calm,' and watched her move into the hall. She hadn't gone far before she slowed and turned again, her expression pained.

Concern snapped him out of humiliation. "What is it?"

Ginny looked at him evenly, her eyes boring into his. "You swear you won't break his heart?" She asked in a whisper that was almost threatening. "Because I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you break my son's heart, I will break you."

Harry nodded, fully believing that she would hurt him. "I swear to you," he said as solemnly as he could.

Ginny nodded and then walked determinedly to the stairs to call James downstairs. Harry stood in the doorway of the kitchen, feeling a little nauseous. This was it. He was going to meet James. And after he did, he needed to figure out how in the hell to reassure Ginny that he would never, ever hurt her or James again. What could he say to help her understand that he wasn't taking parenthood lightly? As he looked at her standing at the foot of the stairs, her body rigid and her eyes sad, he suddenly knew what that something was.

He could move back here and make a real effort to fix this family. Ginny wanted to know that he'd "be here" for his son, but that meant two very different things. Harry could be there for his son by being supportive, by calling on the phone (if they even had a phone), and using magic to visit as often as he or James liked. But he could also physically be here. He could give up everything he knew about himself—everything he'd build for himself over the last four years and be here for James and Ginny.

Would she want that? Did she want him here? And more importantly, did she _want _him here as her husband? Legally they were married, but he doubted that Ginny saw herself as a married woman. She probably used words like "separated" when anyone asked. Aside from that moment in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry hadn't bothered to consider what romantic attachment Ginny might still have for him. The dream he'd had where he remembered Ginny had revealed that very deep down, he still had feelings for her. He might not remember who she was and he might not have any conscious feelings for her, but what would happen today if he got his memories back? Would all of those feelings come flooding back?

As he listened to the sound of his son's feet overhead, he imagined himself really doing it—moving here and giving up the four years of identity he had. It was scary and there were so many unknowns, but he felt in his heart that that was what would really make him happy. He hadn't even met James yet and he felt an enormous need to be with him. As terrifying as it was, he was also sure that what he wanted most was to be the person he was supposed to be: a father to James, someone with a past, present and future, and just as importantly, he wanted Ginny's forgiveness.

And maybe, just maybe, something more?

James came hurtling down the stairs at the speed of an excited four-year-old and when he came into view, Harry's heart stopped in his chest, forgetting everything. James looked exactly like the boy in the photos that Ron and Hermione had shown him, but seeing James in person still took his breath away. As the small boy noticed him and stopped at his mother's side, Harry's heart wanted nothing more than to fix this. To fix everything. To be here, to be a father, to be in this family.

Ginny was watching him with the same sad and worried expression, but he couldn't take his eyes off his son to try and reassure her. James didn't seem afraid, just shy as he stood slightly behind Ginny, staring at his father curiously with the wide and unashamed stare of a child.

And then Ginny moved forward, keeping one hand on James' back in a rather protective nature as she guided him forward.

"James, this is your father," she said in a much warmer tone than she had ever used with Harry. She lowered her gaze to James and ruffled his hair lovingly. "Can you say hello?"

Harry wanted to say hello, too, but his tongue wouldn't work. He was too busy memorizing everything about the son he didn't know. James was so small. He had thin, knobbly knees and small fingers. His hair stuck up at all angles, just like his did, though James' hair was a few shades lighter—more brown than black. His eyes were obviously Ginny's, but James had inherited his general facial structure. He saw his chin, his nose, and his cheeks in the little boy. What else had James gotten from him? There must be many traits, likes and dislikes that James had gotten from him. Getting to know James would be like getting to know the person he used to be.

Realizing he looked like an idiot by just standing in the doorway and staring, Harry came forward a little and then after a moment, lowered himself down to James' level. "Hello," he finally said, unable to cope with overwhelming love for his son. His eyes were burning like he was about to cry, but he forced the tears back.

James stared back unabashedly. "Hi," he said, so quietly that Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been kneeling down.

Harry wracked his brain for something to say. "How old are you?" He knew the answer, of course, but he felt that it was a standard question to ask a kid.

"Four," James said, still in the same little voice.

"Wow. You're old now!" Harry complimented, wishing he'd written a list of things to say to James or that he'd prepared a little more for this moment. Kids were shy and hesitant with strangers—he'd have to do most of the talking.

The ghost of a smile flashed across James' face at the compliment. Harry reveled in the interaction, desperate to see James smile more and hear him talk more, too. A moment of silence passed before James spoke again, looking even a little excited.

"Mummy says that you don't have any mem'ries," James said, shifting his small body restlessly. Harry was pleased by James' willingness to speak to him. Most kids that he met were very quiet and reserved around strangers. It was nice that James was only four and making a little conversation. Then again, if he had inherited his temper, it might not be a surprise that James was brave and outspoken.

"No, I don't. But I'm learning about everything." He glanced at Ginny before adding, "and if it's okay with you, I'm going to stay a while and work on my memories?"

He could feel Ginny's eyes boring into him, her doubt silently challenging him on this question. It made Harry sad that she felt the need to be so protective. James nodded his consent, looking at Harry curiously. There was no sign that James was happy about Harry staying, but that didn't matter to Harry.

"And your Daddy is going to St. Mungo's today to see a healer," Ginny chimed in, her voice calm as if there was no doubt or uneasiness in her mind.

James thought about this for a moment. "Like when Uncle Ron's hair grew really long?" James asked his mother.

Ginny smiled at whatever memory James was referring to. "Yes, he's going to St. Mungo's, just like Uncle Ron." She glanced at Harry and then back at her son. "How about we go show your Dad all your toys? I think he'd like that, wouldn't you, Harry?"

"Yes, please!" Harry inserted quickly, smiling hopefully at James.

James just nodded and then scampered up the stairs to his room. Harry and Ginny watched him go, the awkwardness between them filling up the small space of the hall now that James was gone.

"He's amazing," Harry told Ginny in wonder, feeling so good he felt he was flying. "I just can't believe any of this. I mean, I know he's my son and that I love him already, but this is…" he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. "Thank you. I know you probably want to use that wand of yours to hurt me, but really… thank you."

Harry was surprised when Ginny smiled a small smile. "Look, as weird as this feels, I am happy that you want to be here." She hesitated and then sighed, looking a little defeated before she reached out and placed a light hand on his shoulder. "Actually… I'm happy that you're here."

The sincerity in her voice startled him into forgetting what he wanted to say next. The feeling of her hand on her shoulder felt weird—but good weird. It was the same sort of feeling he'd gotten at the Leaky Cauldron. They stood like that for a long moment, all the pain and distrust gone for now.

"But you don't trust me," Harry finally said quietly. His voice wasn't accusing, just stating a fact.

Realizing she still was touching him, she dropped her hand quickly and shook her head, her expression sad and a little reluctant. "No. Not when James is involved…"

At the mention of James, Ginny glanced upstairs and then gestured that they should go up. Harry followed slowly, but when she got halfway up the stairs, he called after her.

"I'll stay here," Harry told her seriously. "I'll do whatever I have to get you to trust me; I'd do anything to clean up the mess I made."

Ginny stared at him from her spot on the stairs, her expression closed. Harry wasn't sure what she was thinking and that scared him a little. He realized that this woman had the power to ruin him. She could shut him out and keep him from James. She didn't ever seem to say much, but what she didn't say spoke volumes. Finally, she fully turned on the stairs to look directly at him.

"Harry, one step at a time, okay?" She repeated calmly, her eyes beseeching him. "Please."

Fine… that was fine. He'd convince her after this. Again, he felt a little hurt that she was so resistant to that topic. He wondered what he'd expected her reaction to be. Had he thought she'd be excited? Relieved? He knew the "we'll discuss this later," conversation was really code for "we'll talk about it later, but no." If Ginny had her way, he'd never get any closer to his family.

The sting of rejection made him feel even more determined to make Ginny trust him again. James was everything to him now—if his thoughts had been focused on James before, it was nothing to his heart's sincerity now that he'd actually seen James. If he lost everything—Sam, his old life, the four years' worth of identity that he had, it would be worth it to be able to see James every day and to earn Ginny's trust and friendship.

He now realized that he'd been an idiot to not see Ginny as such an intricate part of being around James. As he followed Ginny to James' room, he wondered if she could ever truly forgive him. He had to hope that there was a chance he could fix it—or that St. Mungo's could fix him. He had to believe that somehow things would be okay. This could not be how the rest of his life was going to be…

If everything Dean, Ron and Hermione had told him was true— about him living a life that was constantly threatened and tainted by dark events—didn't he deserve a happy ending? Weren't stories supposed to end with some final line about all being well with the life of the main character?

Harry didn't have much time to feel disheartened because it was a short walk to James' room. James was waiting for Harry, standing beside a large black and red toy chest. Ginny went in, praising James for having cleaned up like she'd asked. The room was painted a bright blue and looked pretty tidy for kid's room. Granted, it probably wasn't up to the standards he'd promised Ginny, but it was clean. The room was brightly lit and the large windows looked out into the backyard.

There was a large bookshelf with messy stacks of books, toys and colourful framed photos. The closet door was open and Harry could see a pile of clothes and a few odd toys peeking out from the crack. The bed was haphazardly made with a fluffy red and white comforter, but the pillow was out of place, as if it had been tossed on the bed in a hurry.

"This is a nice room," Harry told James cheerily.

"Thanks," James said, avoiding Harry's gaze and turning to open his toy chest.

"What are you going to show your Dad?" Ginny asked, moving to sit on the bed to watch. Harry felt out of place again, but then decidedly sat on the floor near the toy chest. He didn't know much about children, but he knew it was always good to get on their level. It made him seem more interested and far less intimidating.

James was digging for toys, his little feet dangling off the floor as he leaned into the chest. "Do you like dragons?" He asked Harry, his voice a bit muffled.

Harry smiled at being addressed directly and edged closer. "Yeah. I love dragons! Do you have a dragon in there?" He was only partly serious—even if magical children did have pet dragons, he was sure that Ginny wouldn't let their son play with anything dangerous.

James glanced back at him, looking pleased. He continued rummaging around in the chest. "What's your favourite kind of dragon?"

Kind of dragon? Harry could name several species of dinosaurs, but he didn't know anything about dragons. "I like the ones that breathe fire," Harry replied, deciding that he should probably like scary, manly dragons. And fire-breathing dragons sounded like a safe answer.

James pulled out several miniature dragons and set them on the floor. Harry's jaw dropped when the seemingly plastic dragons stretched, wiggled their little tails and growled at each other. James lined them up before sitting down across from Harry, watching his father's reaction.

"This one is a Welsh green," James told him, pointing at the first dragon in the row. "Uncle Charlie says they likes to eat sheep!" The Welsh Green eyed Harry evilly, extending its wings like it was trying to seem bigger than it was.

James pointed to another dragon. "And that one is a Chinese Fireball. He kinda looks like a lion; that's how you know his kind." The Chinese Fireball let out a small, but ferocious roar toward another dragon in the row.

"Do these dragons bite?" Harry asked James worriedly as one of the other dragons growled at him, stalking toward his hand as if it were a piece of meat.

James grinned, delighting in the needless viciousness of his toys. "Yep. But it doesn't hurt. Well, one time, I bleeded because my um—" he frowned in concentration. "my Peru.. Peruvian Vipertooth bited my finger and it hurt a lot."

"James had accidentally kicked him down the stairs," Ginny added matter-of-factly. Harry wondered at the dragons' ability to feel and seek revenge. What kinds of toys did magical kids play with? It was like that movie _Toy Story_…

James picked up a copper-coloured dragon that looked smaller than the rest. "This is my Vipertooth. They eat people!" Harry tried not to look distressed at James' fascination with a dragon that ate people. "Uncle Charlie is gonna to let me see one when I'm bigger."

Harry snuck a glance at Ginny and was relieved when she shook her head firmly no. Smiling not only with relief, but with amusement, he turned his attention back to James.

"Your Uncle Charlie likes dragons, too?" Harry asked.

"Uncle Charlie works with dragons!" James corrected him matter-of-factly. "Oh! Mummy told me you battled this dragon!" One of the dragons had taken flight about five inches off the ground and James snatched it out of the air. The dragon gave a small, yet almighty roar as James held it out for Harry to see.

The dragon did not look happy to be captured and it snapped its jaws and wriggled in James' grip to be freed. "What kind of dragon is this?"

When the dragon began trying to bite James' hand, James adjusted his grip and took the toy dragon by its tail and shook it a little, like it was a dead mouse instead of a pissed off dragon. "His tail is spiky. He's a Hungry Horntail!"

"Hungry?" Harry asked with a laugh.

"Hungarian Horntail, luv," Ginny corrected.

"That's what I said!" James replied, setting the poor Horntail down. "You don't 'member him?" James asked sadly, watching the Hungarian Horntail butt his spiked head against the Welsh Green.

Harry tried not to imagine how furious, dangerous and terrifying the real thing was. Even in toy form, this dragon seemed far more vicious than the others and was clearly the bully of the toy chest.

"No, but I don't think I want to remember him. He looks scary!"

James grinned again, delighted that something so terrifying really existed. "Yeah. They breathe fire and stuff."

Once the subject of dragons had been exhausted, James went on to show Harry various other toys in his toy box, intermittently answering random questions that Harry asked him, such as his favorite colour and what he liked to do for fun. James had taken all of about fifteen minutes to warm up to Harry. Now he asked questions, made comments and even laughed a few times.

Harry was delighted at how well this was going. And, what made it better, was the look on Ginny's face when James became chatty and inquisitive. It seemed to ease Ginny's worries that James was warming up to his father. And if James wanted to be around Harry, too, it might make it easier for Ginny to let that happen.

"Do you play Quidditch, Mr. Harry?" James asked, digging around in his messy closet. He pulled out a plastic broom that was only a little bigger than James himself.

"No," Harry told him, wondering at how James had decided on calling him this. He was dying to hear James call him "Dad" or "Daddy." "Do you play?"

James looked sad for a moment as he clutched his broom. "I'm not big enough yet. I get a big kid's broom when I'm big enough to ride it," he told Harry morosely. "This is a toy broom for little kids. But I'm gonna be a good flyer—just like Mummy and you."

"I was a good flyer?" Harry asked James, pleased to hear that his son had heard some good things about him over the years. He was still a little worried about just how much James knew about the scandal or how much trash talk he had been exposed to these last few years.

"You played seeker for Gryffindor!" James told him. "I'm gonna be a Gryffindor, too."

"Can you fly that broom?"

"Yep. I fly as good as Mummy, right?" James asked, throwing an excited look over at his mother. Ginny smiled affectionately, even looking a little proud.

"Yeah, you're a pro!" She praised him.

"You'll have to teach me," Harry told James.

"Yeah, because you were a seeker and I'm gonna be a seeker, too!" James announced, getting on his broom. The broom slowly levitated a few feet in the air, just high enough so that his toes dangled above the carpet.

Harry's heart ached with happiness. Had he just heard him right? James wanted to be a seeker, just like he used to be? It was a silly little thing, but it still made Harry feel very proud. James wanted to be like him?

Around eleven, Ginny excused herself to go make lunch. She'd been fairly quiet the whole time and when she made to leave, Harry wasn't sure if he should follow Ginny or stay with James. Ginny noticed him hesitating about whether or not to stand, but she motioned that he should stay. Harry did, surprised that she was giving him time to be alone with James.

Harry ended up playing some game with an assortment of plastic toys, most of which moved or made noises. Unlike engaging in playtime with regular kids, the toys made Harry ten times more interested in make-believe than he expected himself to be. It was startling when James' set of racecars actually raced around the room, treating the bedroom like a Daytona 500 track, including one spin-out and a few crashes.

James had three Auror action figures who always fought bad guys. And by fought, they seemed to play hide-and-seek where James would tell the bad guys to hide and the Aurors would hunt them out and put them in a plastic jail. The bad guys were toy monsters or sometimes dragons. Harry was instructed to take the part of two Aurors and he did so, smiling whenever James' imagination got really creative or his dialogue too cute. He felt a little weird giving instructions to toys, but they always did his bidding and the games were actually really entertaining. Regular kids didn't know what they were missing.

As he played with James, he realized that he didn't want to leave for St. Mungo's—he didn't want this time to end. Actually, he didn't want to leave this house at all. But he would have to, not only because St. Mungo's might be the answer to his memory loss, but because Ginny would make him leave. It made his heart ache to think about sleeping alone in his own house, while his family was here, happy and together.

Before these thoughts could get in the way of playtime, Ginny called them both down for lunch. As she set the table, Harry knew that Ginny was watching him carefully. He felt as if Ginny was judging him and the way he acted with James. It was like she was waiting for him to do something wrong so she could tell him to leave on the grounds that he'd broken his promise. Then again, maybe she was waiting for him to do something wrong because she was surprised at how well things were going. This option depressed him a little less, so he chose to believe it.

Lunch was a quiet affair, though James kept up chatter between mouthfuls of pasta. His little feet swung back and forth from his chair and he often had to be reminded by Ginny not to talk with his mouth full. Harry noticed that James was pretty good with manners. He also noted that whenever he got excited about something, he'd stammer a little and talk so fast that it was hard to understand him. Ginny didn't seem to have much trouble interpreting, but Harry longed to have the same fluency one day soon.

Harry found out from James that he attended a private daycare for magical kids and that his favorite activities were painting, snack break and recess. He also had a best friend named Mike S. (there was a Mike V. but he wasn't very nice). He was excited to go to nursery school next year, because it meant 'real school' and the sooner he got to go to 'real' school, the sooner he could go to Hogwarts.

After lunch, Harry and James took the toy broom outside and played with it in the yard. It turned out that James was pretty good at flying. Although the broom didn't go very high, James was good at turning, stopping, and his favorite activity: doing donuts. James talked about Quidditch pretty knowledgably for a little kid and told him about Ginny's team (all girls and no boys allowed!). Being a sports journalist, Harry wished that James knew about regular sports so that they could have something else to bond over. James thought the idea of a sport that only involved one ball and no flying was absolutely boring.

All too soon, Ginny came to tell them that Harry had to go for his appointment. Harry tried not to look as disappointed as James so blatantly did. Instead, he smiled bravely and told James that he would come back to play again.

"Can I go, too?" James pleaded to his mother as he raced inside, broom in hand.

Ginny ruffled his hair affectionately. "Jamie, Grandma was all excited about your visit! She's made cookies and everything!"

Harry could see that James' resolve to accompany them to St. Mungo's was quickly disappearing with the promise of cookies. James sighed but nodded, dutifully marching toward the fireplace. Ginny gestured that Harry should follow.

"Ready?" She asked him.

"Not really. I hate hospitals," Harry admitted, following after James.

"Don't worry… this isn't your average hospital," Ginny promised him, though Harry couldn't tell by her tone if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"How do you mean?"

"Oh, you know… muggle hospitals don't treat people for the types of injuries we get. You know, spells gone bad, dragon bites," she smiled and Harry wasn't sure if she was kidding or not.

Harry remembered his concerns. "He doesn't go hang out with real dragons, does he? This Uncle Charlie doesn't take him to a zoo for dragons?"

"No!" Ginny laughed. "Why would you think that?"

"Just checking… I mean, apparently I did a lot of stupid and dangerous things as a kid and I just wanted to make sure that James wasn't doing anything dangerous…"

Ginny smirked and shook her head. "I do take care of him. And no, Harry. James has not inherited your talent for getting into trouble." She paused and made a face. "Yet…"

Harry chuckled at her joke, feeling a little more relaxed. These little moments where she acted at ease with him made him feel… good. Much like hanging out with Ron and Hermione, he found there was a natural rhythm that came easy. It was very comforting to think that after four years and despite what had happened, they could still get along.

Well, sometimes.

James was waiting at the fireplace for them.

Ginny handed James the jaw of powder and waited while he took a handful. "Are you gonna come back after you get fixed up, Mr. Harry?" James asked, looking up at him with big eyes.

Harry smiled back and nodded. "You bet. See you later, James."

Satisfied with the answer, James went into the grate. "See you!" James tossed the powder at his feet and called out "The Burrow!" Harry watched him disappear in a whirl of green flames, feeling a little strange about letting James go by himself.

"Don't you worry about him ending up in the wrong fireplace?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself from voicing his concern. He was amazed at how quickly he was turning into a worried parent. Amazed, but pleased.

Ginny held up a hand, her eyes on the fireplace. Harry followed her gaze and waited for whatever it was she was waiting for. Quite suddenly, the fireplace burst into flames again and the face of Molly Weasley appeared.

"He's here, Ginny!"

"Thanks, Mum."

Molly noticed Harry and she smiled warmly. "Good luck at St. Mungo's, Harry!"

"Thank you."

And with that, Molly's head disappeared. Ginny held out the jar toward him, her eyebrows raised.

"She knows you're back?"

Harry nodded and quickly explained about her parents coming over last night. For some reason, Ginny didn't seem pleased about this piece of news, or about the invitation to a family dinner.

"What's wrong with that?" Harry asked curiously.

Ginny grimaced but all she said was: "You don't remember how chaotic my family is."

"Maybe after this appointment I will," Harry said dryly, hoping to make her smile again.

But Ginny didn't smile. Instead she just looked at him, her expression conflicted once more. "Yeah," she said distractedly. Ginny walked directly into the fireplace and after calling out her destination, disappeared.

Harry followed after, feeling like an idiot again. It was almost amazing how Ginny had the power to make him feel stupid, even by something as little as not smiling when he wanted her to. One moment it was as if they were friends and then the next, she was back to being awkward, uncomfortable, and anxious.

When Harry appeared at St. Mungo's hospital, he forgot about all of this and found himself in a place that was different from the hospitals he'd visited.

St. Mungo's was an extremely odd place. As they walked toward the receptionist, Ginny chattered uncomfortably, explaining that in the wizarding world, they had "healers" instead of "doctors" and that they used potions and magic instead of pills and needles. At first, Harry thought she was uncomfortable about being with him, but it took all of about fifteen seconds to realize that many people were staring, pointing and whispering. Harry tried his best to focus on what Ginny was saying, trying to ignore the amount of curious eyes on them.

"Do they have a lot of success at St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, feeling hopeful.

"Depends on what ails you. But yes, I suppose they do have more success than muggle hospitals."

It was a good thing that Ginny was so chatty and that there was so much to look at in St. Mungo's because it kept his mind from dwelling on the what-ifs about treatment. Harry was embarrassed and guilty when two people, on separate occasions, loudly exclaimed: "It's HARRY POTTER!" Even Ginny had trouble keeping up a conversation after that.

Still, the distractions were good. The sick in St. Mungo's were very different from those you might see in a muggle Emergency Room. Many of the patients seemed to be suffering from strange ailments and conditions that Harry never would have dreamt up. No one seemed to have the flu and no one was holding broken or dislocated limbs. There were no paramedics wheeling in gurneys and no concerned parents holding crying children.

One young man was sitting in a chair, clutching a handful of hay. Every few seconds, he would take a large bite of hay and chew it slowly, much like a cow. When he started mooing, Harry looked away before he could laugh.

One woman was turning a vivid orange on her arms, her chest, and her neck. Another older woman was hiccoughing loudly and so hard that she kept popping several inches off her seat. One man had a bucket on his head, but was having a lively conversation with his friend. And another young girl's legs were fused together in a way that suspiciously resembled a mermaid.

Ginny seemed to see where he was looking. "Partial transfiguration. She probably can't change it back."

"This is strange," Harry said as they waited to be helped by the receptionist. "So where are the normal people with the broken arms and all the sick kids?"

Ginny had been looking very uncomfortable again, but seemed to relax at the question. Maybe she needed a distraction just as badly as he needed one. "That's simple stuff that most witches and wizards can cure at home. People come to St. Mungo's for much more serious magical injuries and illnesses, like curses, jinxes, poisonous plants and attacks by dangerous creatures."

Ginny led him to the front desk where she signed him in with a grumpy-looking wizard, who told them to head up to the fourth floor. Harry did a double-take at the hospital floor plan, realizing that Ginny was right about what people came to St. Mungo's for. If regular people had this sort of home-health care available, the government could invest more money into things like cancer research.

They took an old-fashioned metal lift up to the fourth floor with a gentleman who was wheeling his son on a dolly. The man's son seemed to be immobilized or frozen solid. Harry tried not to stare, but he was curious and he found it hard not to keep looking at the poor kid.

"You got kids?" The man barked toward Harry and Ginny.

"A son," Ginny replied calmly, though she looked as if she wished he wasn't speaking to her.

The man grumbled under his breath. "The problem is when you have two boys. This is the third time this year I'm bringing one of mine to this floor for a hex-gone-wrong. Unbelievable!"

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked before he could help himself.

The man looked at Harry as if he were quite daft. "Leg-locker curse. What's it look like?" He shook his head as the lift's gates opened and the man pushed his son out and down the hall.

"Leg-locker curse?" Harry asked Ginny curiously.

"It immobilizes you, but it's a pretty simple curse. I've never seen it done wrong before."

On the fourth floor, there was another desk where Ginny led Harry. The witch working this desk told them to wait in room 415 and that a healer would be with them shortly. There was less to look at up here and the floor was a lot quieter than downstairs. Unfortunately, the silence gave him time to think, or more specifically, to worry.

As they walked down the long and winding hallway, Ginny began to look more nervous, too. He was desperate to know what she was thinking and why she was so nervous. There were fewer people up here to notice them, so very people were staring or pointing.

"Here it is," Ginny said with undisguised relief as they reached room 415. She opened the door for him and gestured for him to enter.

Harry hesitated at the door, suddenly very depressed to be back in a hospital. Seriously, how many times did he need to visit one before he'd had enough bad luck? Harry shut the door behind them and took a seat at one of the three chairs in the small room.

There wasn't much in here except for the chairs, a single bed and a large cupboard with lots of shelves and drawers of different sizes. Sitting next to Ginny, he watched as one of her legs began to jiggle nervously. He waited several seconds before finally getting up the nerve to ask what was bugging her.

"You seem nervous," Harry said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

Ginny bit her lip and shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "A little."

"It'd be nice if this whole memory loss thing was behind us," Harry agreed sadly. "So we can start moving on."

"Memory charms can be difficult," she said, her voice soft. "I mean… they've got a whole ward for people who have had their brains affected by powerful memory charms and who don't have hope of recovery."

Harry stared in horror. "I don't think I need to be taken to any special ward. I'm fine aside from the fact that I can't remember anything about my life, you, or my friends." He hadn't meant to sound offended or act insulted, but his nerves were really getting to him.

Ginny immediately looked guilty for having said this.

"Harry, I'm sorry," she said, her voice heavy. "I didn't mean to say that there's anything _wrong_ with your brain. I only meant that memory charms can be really complicated. But don't worry… it'll work itself out."

Harry searched her expression desperately. He couldn't wait for a day when he wasn't walking on eggshells and when he would know what to say to her. It was hard to imagine that Ginny had once been someone he'd loved and cared for when she spent so much of her energy being suspicious of him and not saying what she was really thinking.

"But how do you know? What if this is it for me? What if I was meant to live like this?"

"Harry, you weren't destined for this," she disagreed.

"Maybe I was. You, Ron, Hermione… none of you are one hundred percent confident in St. Mungo's being able to get my memories back. There is a real possibility that I'll never get better, isn't there?"

"Harry, it'll be okay," Ginny said calmly, but she still looked concerned.

Why couldn't she just be honest with him? Well, he knew _why_ but he didn't know how to repair the damage that had been done. At this rate, he wasn't sure that Ginny would ever forgive him.

"I wish people would stop sugar-coating everything," he sighed. "I can handle the truth. I've come through a lot and I came here to find out who I am. I'm ready for anything."

Ginny looked at him, seeming to debate whether or not she wanted to tell him the truth—whatever that may be. Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair and stared at the opposite wall, his anxiety about today, about hospitals, and his general discomfort about this whole trip so far was really working on his nerves.

"The last four years of not knowing where I belong and never really feeling at home, have really sucked. When I found out that I had a home here, I had hope for the first time that I could really be happy with my life. But I don't feel at home here, either. I don't belong in New York and I sure as hell don't belong here."

Ginny was looking at him with such pity that he started to remember where he was and that others could probably hear him. He didn't want to make a scene and risk ending up in the newspapers again. Ginny reached out and put her hand on his shoulder as she had earlier.

"I just… I need this to work," he muttered, embarrassed that he'd just had another pity-party. Ginny didn't need to hear about his problems—she'd had her own over the years, thanks to him. He needed to calm down.

_He really hated hospitals._

"You were meant for so much more," Ginny said quietly. "You've come through so many terrible things that it's impossible that _this _is how your life was meant to be. Have faith, Harry."

She removed her hand after a moment and went back to folding her arms tightly across her chest. Harry watched her for a moment, studying her profile.

"Thank you," he told her, really meaning it. "I know it must be hard for you to be near me and to be nice to me." He actually laughed at the truth of these words, which made her smile sadly in return.

"Harry, in spite of everything… you know that I want to be here with you, right? That I want you to get better?"

At this moment, Harry felt like he was really talking to Ginny. He could hear the sincerity in her words and see it in her eyes. He felt like he was having a real conversation with someone who cared about him, and who was speaking the whole truth and not hiding what she really wanted to say.

Harry wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that she'd come here with him. Ginny was so strong and such a wonderful person—he was very, very lucky. Just then his cellphone began to vibrate in his pocket and when it didn't stop, he realized someone was calling him. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, trying not to grimace to see Sam's name on the screen. He pressed the button to ignore the call, slipping his phone back in his pocket quickly.

"Your girlfriend?" Ginny guessed, her voice soft. He glanced at her in surprise, but found that she didn't look upset or angry, or even that she was hiding either of these emotions.

"Yeah."

His surprise must have been really obvious on his face because she explained: "Hermione told me this morning."

Harry's mind tried to pinpoint at what point Hermione had spoken to Ginny and he guessed it was when he was showering. Harry wasn't sure if he was mad at Hermione for telling Ginny before he could, or if he was relieved.

"It's okay, you know," Ginny added, noticing his expression. She even offered him a small, teasing smile as she nudged him with her elbow. "It's been four years, Harry. I didn't expect you to become a monk. I figured you'd moved on with your life, just as I did."

For some reason, her nonchalance irked him. It wasn't like he left voluntarily. Didn't she care at all? And what did she mean by moving on? Was she seeing someone? "I'm really sorry, Ginny."

"It's okay, Harry."

But it didn't feel okay at all. "No, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. This is just all so messed up—I don't cheat. If I'd known I was married—if I'd known I had a wife I loved and a son, I would never have stayed away."

Ginny waved away his apology, starting to look uncomfortable again. "Don't worry, I know."

Harry looked at her for a long time, trying to figure out how she really felt. He wanted her to yell at him or lecture him or something. Yelling was better than her just being _okay _with the fact that her husband was living with another woman. "You're really not upset? I feel like you deserve to be upset."

Ginny looked at him with a bemused expression before shrugging her slender shoulders. "What's the point? It's not like it surprises me… and it's been four years. Besides, raising James has kept me busy. Being a mum comes first."

One part of him hated that he was arguing with her about this, but the other part felt guilty about getting off too easily. "But we're married!" Harry protested. "And I've been seeing someone, living with someone… and all this time I've been married to you and we have a child together? You should definitely be angry with me. Hit me or something. Hard… maybe it'll help get my memories back."

"If Ron couldn't knock your memories back into you, I doubt I could," Ginny replied wryly.

He couldn't believe that she wasn't demanding to know what he was going to do about this situation. Unlike Sam, Ginny didn't seem to care and she wasn't asking him to keep his wedding vows.

But instead of acting upset, she was curious. "Hermione says that she knows about me and James?"

Harry swallowed his confusion, reminding himself that this was not the time or place to have a lengthy conversation about right and wrong. "Yeah, she knows."

Ginny smiled slightly and folded her legs, still looking rather relaxed. Harry stared at her, perplexed about her reaction and frustrated that he couldn't read her. Was she always this difficult to read? Had the old Harry been able to figure out her thought process and read her emotions?

"I bet she's not happy," Ginny said darkly. "I don't blame her. None of this is fair. And it's certainly not fair for your girlfriend. Whoever did this to you has fucked up a lot of lives…"

Harry was startled to hear her curse like that—so casually, yet sincerely. He also noted that when she used the word "girlfriend" there was no hint of bitterness or jealousy.

"She must be worried about you… why didn't you answer your phone?"

Harry tried not to let his guilt show. He didn't exactly want to admit to Ginny just how afraid he was about talking to Sam. The next conversation he had with her had to be one where he ended things. He didn't want to pretend or lie to her anymore than he already had. "I dunno. We're here… waiting to see a healer… I'll talk to her later." He was a coward and he knew it, but as Ginny said, 'one step at a time.' They were at St. Mungo's and right now was not the time to deal with the Sam-issue.

"Don't make her wait too long, Harry," Ginny told him gently. "If I were her, I'd be going crazy not knowing what was going on. And if she knows about me and James, I'm sure she's not too thrilled about you being around me…"

Didn't Ginny understand before when he said he was going to stay here? Didn't she understand that as terrible as he felt about Sam and about this whole situation, that he had already made up his mind? His delaying of talking to Sam was only delaying a break-up—not a reconciliation, or to fill her in about what was going on.

"Ginny, I meant what I said," Harry told her quickly.

"When?"

Harry had a feeling she knew exactly what he was talking about, but wanted to avoid the issue. But before Harry could elaborate, the door opened and Harry and Ginny both stared at the healer who entered the room. The healer was a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair that was pulled back into a neat ponytail. She was dressed in strange lime green robes and she had a kindly face. Ginny sat up straighter and folded her hands in her lap, very carefully shifting her whole body away from Harry. Harry wondered at Ginny's change in attitude, trying to imagine a time she wouldn't shift away from him or act defensive or distant in the presence of others. He thought it might be because her relationship with him had been smeared across the wizarding world in a scandal fit for Hollywood tabloids. Ginny probably wanted to keep a low profile.

"Harry Potter?" the woman asked, her eyes scanning a chart in her hand before she looked at Harry with a polite smile. Harry stared, wondering why healers didn't wear white, like normal doctors. Why lime green? It was such a terrible colour—not at all reassuring.

The healer held out her hand politely. "Hello, my name is Miranda Goffick. I see from your chart that you've been exposed to some powerful memory charms?"

"Yes," Harry responded, hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt.

Miranda nodded and took out a quill from her pocket, jotting something down on his chart. She took a seat across from Harry and Ginny, her quill ready to take notes "Well, why don't you tell me the story right from the beginning. Please remember to include any odd side effects, including any partial transfigurations, loss of consciousness, any strange or erratic behaviour, and/or severe cases of accidental magic."

Trying not to let himself think about being partial transfigured, he told the healer everything, including his previous head injury and how he came to be here. When he was finished, Miranda went over to the cabinet and began pulling out various phials and a very tall, white goblet with measurement markings all over it. She mixed several of the phials together, stirred it with a wave of her hand and then brought it back over.

She sat down again, setting the cup down on the desk. "And Mrs. Potter, could you explain to me what Mr. Potter was like when he left?"

Harry turned to look at Ginny, curious to hear himself. He already knew that he had said mean things, but he was curious to hear how he had acted. He especially wanted to know why Ginny had been sure he had willingly left in the first place. Harry was still a little hurt that Ginny hadn't questioned his desire to leave, no matter what things he'd said to her. He imagined that true love should have mean never giving up on the other person.

"The week before he left, Harry was coming home and acting oddly—he was reserved, tired, and unwilling to talk about what was bothering him. He'd been like that before, though—usually if the Aurors had been on a dangerous raid or if something bad had happened. I didn't question it, because he'd been so busy at work. The last three days before he left were the worst." Ginny swallowed hard, keeping her eyes glued on the healer.

Miranda was making notes again. She glanced up, her gaze resting on Ginny and Ginny alone. "What sort of behaviour was Harry displaying?"

Ginny looked extremely uncomfortable at this question, but she answered, careful to avoid Harry's gaze. "He was irritable, distracted, and he had some trouble sleeping."

"Any violent behavior or accidental magic?"

Ginny hung her head and Harry felt his heart drop somewhere to the vicinity of his feet. Had he hurt her? No! He refused to believe that he would ever physically hurt anyone, especially someone he loved. Harry felt sick as Ginny nodded very slightly.

There was a pause as Miranda ticked off a few boxes on her chart. "I'm sorry to ask," Miranda said gently. "But I do need to know if it was one or the other, or perhaps both. And I'll need to know the details of these instances."

Ginny took several long moments before answering the question. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and Harry could see that her eyes were quickly welling with tears.

"Once he shattered a glass in his hand and during an argument, he got so angry that the bathroom mirror broke. He was just angry and it made his magic unpredictable. My brother said that on a mission, he was having trouble with his spells." Ginny said, barely above a whisper, squeezing her hands in her lap so hard that her knuckles had turned very white. "And he… displayed some violent behaviour."

Harry couldn't help himself. He reached over and touched her shoulder to comfort her, desperate to apologize over and over again. What he didn't expect was for Ginny to jerk away from his hand as if she'd been stung. Harry's hand froze and Ginny glanced at him, two tears dropping onto her pink cheeks. She immediately looked apologetic at her response and she deliberately slowly lowered her rigid shoulders.

What the hell had he done?

Miranda nodded, wordlessly handing Ginny a box of tissues before making more notes on her clipboard. Harry stared down at his lap, feeling ashamed at his past and ashamed that Ginny was tearing up now as she relived it for him and a stranger.

Harry hated himself—more than he'd ever hated himself before. In his mind, he was picturing all sorts of terrible scenarios where he acted like a violent drunk, breaking glass, throwing things, and yelling a lot. He wondered how he could have turned into his person. He knew in his heart that he would never, ever raise a hand to his wife, or anyone else. And knowing that he'd not only broke Ginny's heart by abandoning her and James, but to know that he had also physically hurt her was unbearable.

No wonder she doesn't trust me, Harry thought miserably. Ginny, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I've done, he told her silently.

Miranda looked up from her notes, her expression gentle.

"And can you describe for me what sort of behaviour that Mr. Potter exhibited?"

Ginny began to cry now, squeezing her eyes tightly together. Harry reached out again, but this time she didn't jerk away. His hand rubbed her back soothingly, wishing there was something that these people could do to get rid of those memories for her.

"I'm sorry to press, but the severity of Mr. Potter's behaviour can be an indication of the types of magic used on him."

Ginny took a shaky breath. "I tried to stop him from leaving… I stood in his way."

Miranda made some more notes. "So he made me move—not with magic." Ginny whispered. "And he drew his wand, but he didn't use magic then."

Miranda finished her notes and then settled a sympathetic look on Harry. Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, trying to get images of himself hurting Ginny out of his head. He knew that he'd have nightmares and this terrible guilt in his stomach for the rest of his life.

"Well, Mr. Potter, first thing is first, we're going to try and lift whatever magic was used with this potion. Just to forewarn you, it is very bitter and smells a bit like cleaning solvent. We find it very effective in helping to loosen powerful charms and even some poisons and potions."

Harry didn't care if she'd given him Drain-o to drink. Harry took the goblet and didn't give himself a moment to hesitate. He drained the goblet in one motion, managing to swallow the contents before coughing violently, his throat and stomach burning as the potion travelled through his system.

Miranda took the empty goblet and set it down on the table again. "Spells that do not cause severe physical or mental harm are usually never permanent, which means that there is a chance that without treatment, whatever magic was used on Mr. Potter would wear off on its own."

"But how long would it take?" Harry managed to ask, massaging his chest to try and soothe the burning sensation.

"It's difficult to say," Miranda replied. "Sometimes five or ten years… sometimes the charm never fully goes away, it just weakens. It really depends on what spells were used and how much exposure the victim had."

"I don't want to wait ten years to get my memories back," Harry exclaimed in a panic. "Please, I can't keep living like this! Look at what this has done to Ginny—to her life and to my son. I have to get my memories back."

"And how do you feel right now, Mr. Potter? Any change?"

Harry searched his brain for any information about his past, but he came up blank.

"It burns, but I don't feel any different."

Miranda was not discouraged. Instead she stood and gestured toward the bed at the back of the room. "I'll need you to lie down and relax. I'll try removing some of these spells."

Harry did as he was told, feeling grateful when Ginny went with him instead of staying far away. They made eye contact and Harry thought his expression probably mirrored the sad, fearful look on her face. She stood by his head at first, but then took a step forward and slid her hand into his. Harry stared at their intertwined hands for a moment, feeling very grateful that Ginny was here with him.

Although he trusted the healer, magical medical practice was far more intimidating than needles, IV-drips and taking plastic cups of colourful pills. At least in a regular hospital, he knew what to expect. The healer took out her wand and began muttering all sorts of strange incantations, which made him feel a wide range of symptoms. Some made him feel as if the room was spinning, some made him feel sleepy, some made him feel tingly, and some had no reaction at all. All through the process, Ginny held his hand. The feeling of her hand in his was comforting as his heart beat fast in his chest.

He had no idea how long he had been on the bed before Miranda told him she was finished, and asked him how he felt.

"Okay," he said, not really sure how he felt. The last spell made his feet a little tingly and he was a bit lightheaded, but other than that, he felt no different. No memories. No past. No identity.

"Let's try a simple question. Can you tell me the name of your third year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Miranda asked.

Harry didn't need to think hard—his mind was still blank. Disappointment hit him like a ton of bricks and perhaps it was because he'd just had a lot of magic used on him, perhaps he was just tired, but Harry found himself fighting back tears.

A glance at Ginny made the feelings of hopelessness even worse. He thought back to her words when she said he wasn't meant for this fate and he wondered if she'd really believed that. The look on her face was one of sharp disappointment, breaking the mask of repressed emotions at last. The look on her face made it clear that Ginny had had a lot of hope in treatment at St. Mungo's, too.

"I don't know," Harry said simply.

Ginny's hand gently tugged free from his.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: The Long Road to Recovery**

A/N: An update at last! Thank you SO much for the Best Romance award! I am so incredibly honoured and touched that this story is being read, critiqued, and enjoyed by so many people! Thanks again! Without further ado, here's chapter ten

Harry closed his fist when Ginny tugged her hand free. He was trying very hard not to react to losing that physical contact with Ginny. Logically, he knew it shouldn't bother him, but it did. Instead of feeling alone and defective, he knew he should feel grateful that Ginny was here, supporting him.

His own emotions were running wild as he went through the motions: disbelief, sadness, anger, and back to disbelief again. And as thought about how he felt and how Ginny must be feeling right now, Miranda was telling him not to be discouraged and that she had other things she wanted to try. Miranda was still optimistic, keeping up her professional cool as she discussed possible reasons for why magic wasn't working, though Harry couldn't focus on any of them.

He was imagining trying to raise his son in a magical world that didn't make sense to him. He was imagining sharing James over holidays, living apart from the people he'd once called friends and family. He imagined ending things with Sam—the one person whom he still felt a deep connection to, just so he could maybe one day have the life in the wizarding world that he really wanted. Suddenly his future seemed lonely, uncertain, and incredibly difficult.

"But it doesn't make sense," Ginny exclaimed miserably, interrupting Miranda and breaking through Harry's depressing tirade of thoughts.

Harry glanced up at Ginny, surprised by her outburst. Up until now, Harry had only seen the strong-willed, determined woman who had overcome the challenges of being a single mom and of living in the midst of scandal and shame. Ginny had always kept her emotions in check, making it difficult for him to know what she was thinking or feeling. But now, the mask was gone and Harry could tell that Ginny was just as disappointed as he was, if not more.

Both hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides. She was standing so rigidly, Harry thought she might snap. Tears filled her eyes and her face had gone so pale that even her freckles had had gone white. He hated that she was falling apart because of him.

Seeing her fall apart, he wondered if she had she been this upset all along. He knew Ginny was so strong, but he now realized that she was a far braver and stronger person than he ever gave her credit for.

"I know this is disappointing," Miranda said gently, fetching the box of tissues for Ginny. "But we shouldn't give up hope."

"But it should have worked, shouldn't it?" Ginny asked, her voice cracking with emotion. "Why can't he remember? What did they do to him?" Ginny's eyes locked with his for only a few seconds before she settled her fierce gaze on the healer, demanding answers.

"I still believe Harry's condition was caused by multiple spells," Miranda said thoughtfully. "Clearly he's had more exposure than we originally thought. The person who did this knew exactly what they were doing. I know it's not very comforting to hear, but when the Aurors launch an investigation, this should help narrow down their suspects. This wasn't the work of any common criminal—this person is a skilled witch or wizard at mind-altering spellwork."

"Narrow down their suspects?" Ginny said, her misery turning to cruel laughter. "Do you know how many sociopathic, terrible people issued death threats against him? The list is a MILE long. Right now, I don't give a damn about who did it or what they did to him. You just have to make him better! Harry needs his memories back!"

Harry was touched by her words and her passion, so much so that his own strength and determination welled up inside him once more. He had to get past this and he would get past this. Taking a calming breath, he asked the healer: "What do we do now?"

Miranda turned her wand in her fingers as she thought. "Normally I would try a variation of specialty potions. They're quite strong, but they're usually very effective in removing powerful magic."

"Let's try them," Harry immediately agreed, ready again to try anything. He couldn't give up hope. Getting better was more than for him—he had Ginny, he had James, and he had friends and family to get better for.

Miranda hesitated, glancing at Ginny nervously before she said: "Due to Harry's history with the dark arts, I'm reluctant to subject him to tests that I don't believe will work."

There was a long pause in which both Harry and Ginny stared at Miranda in horror. Harry was just about to start arguing, but Ginny beat him to it.

"So you're giving up?" Ginny demanded.

"No, I have another suggestion," Miranda said seriously. "I'd like to try Legilimancy. It's invasive and it will have undesirable side effects such as head pain, migraines, confusion, and vivid flashbacks, but I believe it may be the most effective solution to Mr. Potter's problem."

Harry frowned at Miranda's tone. "You make it sound like it's brain surgery," he said slowly, concerned by the danger and risks that a doctor's serious tone usually indicated.

Miranda was about to respond to Harry's comment, when Ginny interjected with another question.

"Why will this one work?" Ginny demanded. Apparently she had decided to forgo any calm or friendly tone.

"Like I said before, I believe a combination of powerful spells was cast by someone who knew what they were doing. I find it interesting that this magic is so powerful, and yet you show no other signs or symptoms of your mental health being affected. The only sign of your being affected is your thorough belief in an imagined identity and life."

Conjuring a chair from thin air, Miranda sat to explain further, her expression grave. "A combination of any mind-altering charms could cause moderate to severe psychological damage. An Imperius curse temporarily takes away your control and memories of your actions. They can make you do or believe anything. We often find that victims of repeated and prolonged exposure to this curse have the weakened mental capacity to block it. In extreme cases, they lose brain function"

"Harry has always been able to resist the Imperius curse," Ginny interjected impatiently. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, but when a memory charm is used, the victim is momentarily dazed, his mind open and very easily prone to suggestion and compulsion." She paused to allow Harry to digest this. "If your memories were wiped first, your mind would be open to suggestion. They could make you do anything, convince you of anything, and there would be no fighting it. More importantly, you would never remember anyone attacking you, because that memory would be wiped."

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "So these two spells explain why I left my family?"

"Precisely. But it would be safe to say that you were repeatedly exposed to these two spells. Someone repeatedly convincing you to leave, that you were unhappy, and ultimately, that you are someone else entirely. A memory charm would be sufficient to remove you from your life, but memory charms wear off over time. An Imperius curse could make your constructed identity more permanent."

"So because Harry can resist the Imperius curse, they decided to use more than one charm?" Ginny asked slowly, frowning with uncertainty at the theory.

Miranda nodded. "Together, these spells have an interesting effect. They can increase in potency and can be difficult to lift altogether. Along with being forced to assume a new identity, Harry was probably ordered never to remember who he is."

It was an interesting theory, Harry thought, but he didn't really want to believe that someone had exercised this much control over him. Ginny was first to question Miranda's theory. "So why didn't the magic you just did work on Harry?"

"Mind-altering charms are usually not used together. Sometimes spells don't mix well and they can have dangerous side effects when used in combination. This doesn't bode well for the victim if the person using those spells is an exceptionally powerful wizard. But I think that between the potion and the removal spells I used, the memory charms should have been removed, if not at least substantially weakened. Curses are tricky, though. And repeated and prolonged exposure—especially over several days, as is the case with Mr. Potter—his mind has been weakened, tweaked and forced into this alternate state of mind. With Legilimancy, I can reach the memories that he cannot."

"But what is Legilimancy?" Harry asked, feeling a little frustrated that Miranda had yet to explain what the hell sort of weird magical brain treatment they wanted to give him.

"Most people confuse it with mind-reading, but it's much more complex than that. The mind has many layers and some believe that the mind is divided into three areas: our unconscious, conscious, and our sub-conscious. Legilimancy allows me to sift through the layers and interpret the things I find. For example, Legilimancy is most often used to verify if a person is telling the truth."

"How would that help you?" Ginny asked. "If Harry doesn't know what the truth is—"

But Miranda interrupted her before Ginny could even finish her argument. "Unconsciously, Harry does know the truth. And perhaps it is these buried feelings that allowed him to be led back to London. His conscious and sub-conscious mind have been persuaded into thinking he is another person. Harry has been directly ordered never to access those memories, but I can access them. For lack of a better way of explaining things, once the memories have been touched, he'll see them, too. I just have to bring them forward."

"And this will make me remember?" Harry asked hopefully. "The curse won't cause me to forget again?"

Miranda hesitated for a moment. "No, if this treatment is successful, the curse will be broken.

I truly believe that this is your best option. I should warn you that there is a small chance that digging up these memories might be extraordinarily painful as the curse tries to resist me."

Ginny looked worried, too. She moved closer to him, her eyes searching his, trying to convey something that she couldn't or wouldn't put into words. "And Harry, there's a lot of stuff from your past that you would remember..."

Harry forced a brave smile, not really sure what he was agreeing to. He got it—this treatment was difficult, maybe even controversial as far as magical brain treatments went. Trying to keep his hospital-anxiety under control, he was sure that brain surgery had to be far, far more risky than Legilimancy! And whatever terrible or private memories he had that Ginny was talking about… well, being embarrassed and losing his dignity was a small price to pay for his memories.

"I understand," he told Miranda. He turned to Ginny, still smiling in a reassuring way. "I have to do this."

Ginny nodded, but she still looked concerned.

"And Harry… you understand that this is very invasive, perhaps even painful? It is not pleasant to have one's mind read, let alone have someone digging around for an extended period of time?" Miranda asked.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "I'm ready. I need my memories back. I'll do anything for that."

He caught Ginny's eye again, and was surprised when she smiled and slid her hand back into his. Her smile didn't erase the look of real concern in her expression, but he saw hope in her eyes once more. He squeezed her hand in his, silently praying for both their sakes that this would work.

Miranda nodded and stood. "I'll just have to get you to sign a waiver. I will administer a sleeping draught since your thoughts are easier to navigate when you are asleep. Your mind naturally will try and fight against me, though you'll ultimately be unable to stop it."

Harry nodded, trying not to panic at the warning. He knew if he thought about it too much, his anxiety about hospitals might kick in and he'd embarrass himself with a full-out panic attack in front of Ginny. Harry thought it was probably good that he couldn't remember anything specific he might want to hide. It made agreeing much easier when he didn't know what humiliating or terrible things he would soon remember.

Miranda conjured a waiver and held it out to him. Harry gently let go of Ginny's hand to sign the waiver, before taking her hand again. He was unbelievably grateful that she was here with him.

Miranda excused herself for a moment, leaving Harry and Ginny alone again. When the door closed, Ginny squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. "You look nervous."

Mentally kicking himself for being such a baby when it came to hospitals, Harry swallowed his fear and tried to return the smile. "I'm okay. Maybe I'll remember why I have such an aversion to doctors and hospitals after this."

"You were in and out of them a lot growing up…" Ginny told him sadly.

This surprised him. "I was sick?"

"No, danger found you—if you didn't find it first." Harry was pretty sure she wasn't kidding, but he still laughed anyway.

"Just remember that whatever you see, you've already survived it. It'll be just like having a nightmare," she told him softly. "They can't hurt you. You just have to be brave and remember that you'll wake up soon, and it'll be over."

Her soothing tone made him think that this speech was something she'd often told their son. That made him feel better, too.

"Is that what you tell James when he has nightmares?" Harry asked lightly, trying to distract himself.

"Yeah. He's pretty brave." Ginny smiled down at him shyly, her eyes welling up with tears again. "Just like his dad…"

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at the kindness and warm tone that went with those words. "Wonder if it'll be weird to become someone else. Will I still think the same? Will I be different?"

"You're not that different," Ginny said. And then she grinned and nudged him with her shoulder. "Actually, the new you attracts far less trouble, but other than that… you're pretty much the same."

"Hopefully I'll take that trait with me when I remember who I was."

"I'd appreciate that. I don't want James taking after you in that respect. I'm already worried he's going to take after Charlie to go study the world's most dangerous species of dragons."

Harry grimaced at the thought. No, his son was not studying fire-breathing, man-eating mythical creatures. "Remind me to make James watch _Jurassic Park_. It's about dinosaurs, but maybe we can scare him out of that career plan."

Ginny's blank expression made Harry realize he'd have to make both Ginny and James watch _Jurassic Park._ He'd probably also have to make sure he could use his Blu-Ray player in the wizarding world since no one seemed big on electronics. He didn't think he could be this other Harry without his Blu-Ray player or his laptop.

His silly concerns disappeared when Miranda returned with another goblet and a set of white hospital robes. Ginny and Miranda gave him privacy as he undressed and got under the sheets, grateful, at least, that he'd be asleep for the actual magic-part. Ginny sat beside him and took his hand wordlessly. Miranda brought Harry the potion and Harry drank it quickly, glad that it tasted better than the last potion. He lay back against the pillows, startled by how quickly the sleeping potion began to work. As he fell asleep, he made sure he was squeezing Ginny's hand. He felt a bit like a helpless child as he drifted off into oblivion, but hanging onto Ginny's hand made him feel grounded and safe.

At first, Harry knew nothing.

And then he felt something...odd disturbing his deep sleep. There was a strange pressure in his head, followed by a probing sensation that painfully interrupted the nothingness of deep sleep. It was like a hand physically reaching into his brain and feeling around. Milliseconds after he was aware of the hand, the pain intensified and sudden panic filled his numb thoughts. He tried to push against the invisible force, but he knew it was a losing battle. The harder he pushed, the harder the hand pushed back. And then there was the heaviness of the sleeping potion. The urge to slip back into nothingness came in waves, but the sensation of the hand digging around in his head kept him from unconsciousness. In short, it was torture.

The invisible hand was searching for something, clawing through his brain until it got to the very bottom of his skull. It was looking for the plug in the bottom of a deep, black tub. Harry wanted to cry out, but physically, he was asleep. Trapped inside his own head, he was forced to lie there and deal with the agony of someone digging around in his head.

It felt like hours before anything happened but the pain. But suddenly, the memories came and they were a slight distraction from the pain of the invasion.

Having his memories brought up from his unconscious was like watching an out-of-order movie on fast-forward. As each memory came up, it just _made sense_, which would have been reassuring if he wasn't desperate for this torture to end. Asleep and not in control of his own thoughts, he couldn't reason that it was a healer doing this, or that the end result was worth this agony. All that mattered was that someone was in his mind, tampering with his thoughts and invading everything that was private and personal.

Sometimes the streams of memories slowed, lingering as the hand searched for every miniscule detail. It was like the hand knew where his mind was trying to guard itself. It scratched and picked at his brain until the memory, in entirety, was released before the hand moved onto a different memory.

It felt like hours—days, even—as his mind was searched. He had no conception of how much time was passing, only that each time a new memory was dug up, the pain would intensify, decrease, and then swell once more in relentless waves.

Because the memories weren't in order, he couldn't judge how much longer he had to be subjected to this torture. They jumped in time periods and in importance. Some were small moments, seemingly insignificant like the taste of Mrs. Weasley's homemade pies, or the way his dormitory smelled at Hogwarts. Others were hugely important and extraordinarily vivid.

He was a tiny boy, locked in a dark cupboard and begging to be let out. His cousin was laughing as Harry pounded little fists on the door. He shrunk back onto his creaky bed, wishing that someone—anyone—would come save him from the Dursleys.

He was seventeen, feeling hatred and darkness in the middle of a forest. To his right, Hermione and Ron were playing a card game. Their smiles were pained as they played, trying to distract themselves from the impossible task of finding and destroying Horcruxes.

He was twelve, and flying on a broomstick. The wind whipping past him as he soared higher and higher. He felt free. The golden snitch glinted in the September sun and Harry shot after it.

He was eleven and letters addressed to him were pouring into the room like rain. One letter bounced off his glasses and another gave him a small paper cut between his fingers.

He was getting married and about to kiss Ginny, the most beautiful woman in the world. She smiled widely at him as he lifted her wedding veil.

He thrust his sword upwards into the Basilisk, only to feel one of its teeth pierce his arm. The venom burned as it began to spread, but he held the sword upwards anyway, determined to win. His injured arm throbbed and shook under the pressure.

He was surrounded by one hundred black Dementors. It was so the cold that it was difficult to think, let alone breathe. He had to save Sirius. He had to stay awake.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all smiles as they clinked glasses over dinner over Ginny getting onto the Harpies. He was so proud of her.

He felt alone and angry and targeted. He felt betrayal and angst and fear. He felt empty and hopeless.

A flash of green light and a blood-curdling scream made him whirl around on the muddy grass. He felt his stomach drop somewhere into the vicinity of his feet, praying to God it wasn't Ginny. The wall to his left exploded and he was thrown several feet onto the cold, uneven floor of the corridor. His ears were ringing loudly as he screamed Ginny's name.

Aunt Marge laughed as an angry bulldog chased him across the yard. He scrambled across the grass to the tree, launching himself onto a low branch. He swung his legs up, managing to avoid the dog's teeth.

He pulled the broom cupboard door closed behind him and Ginny giggled, grabbing his shirt collar and tugging him into a passionate kiss. His heart hammered out an uneven rhythm in his chest as they kissed, neither of them worried about being caught.

"GRYFFINDOR!" Harry removed the sorting hat and made his way over to Gryffindor table, vaguely aware that everyone was staring at him. He sat down, feeling a little shaky, but very much glad that he wouldn't have to get back on the train.

There was Lord Voldemort and his killing curse meeting his disarming spell with the force of two boulders hitting each other.

There was smoke, screaming, and curses flying in every direction. A Death Eater appeared out of no where and grabbed Hermione by her hair, roughly tugging her against him. She screamed, but Harry and Ron both attacked with a stunning curse that made him crumple. Seconds after Hermone had hurried into Ron's arms, a giant's fist smashed through the wall, burying the Death Eater in rubble. Blood was quickly pooling beneath the rubble and Harry turned away, his stomach churning.

He remembered all those who had died for him, around him, because of him. He saw faces, he saw lifeless bodies, and so much destruction.

But intermittent with the darkness was the light. There was Ginny, and the sound of her laughter. There was Ron and Hermione. There was Sirius and Lupin, and all the Weasleys. There was the birth of his son, and the feeling of James grabbing his finger for the first time. There were promotions and parties and perfect moments.

There was the moment the war was over. As Ginny helped him up, they kissed briefly. It wasn't a passionate or long kiss, but it would become one of his favourite moments with her. In that moment, he promised himself he would marry this girl.

He remembered himself, in all the hundreds of thousands of little details that made up his identity. He didn't like peanut butter and jam sandwiches, but the combination was good on toast. He liked the right side of the bed. He didn't mind spiders, unless they were larger than normal. He liked Ginny best when she just woke up, her hair a mess of wild waves. He wanted two kids and he wanted to teach them both how to ride their first brooms. He secretly thought Hermione made better cookies than Ginny, but he'd never tell his wife that.

Finally, at long last, the memories slowed and the pain receded. In the hazy fog that was the state of being half-asleep, Harry became aware of how fast his heart was pounding, and how difficult it was to breathe as the hand continued to poke and prod him.

He fought for air, fought to come up from the fog so he could prevent a second attack of his mind. Through an irrational and a desperate longing for consciousness, Harry was able to open his eyes and gasp for breath. Above him, Ginny and Miranda were still there, but this time, he managed to stay above the potion's weight.

He tried to sit up, but he was held down by real binds around his wrists. He struggled viciously, in a blind panic to escape the attack, but very slowly, he remembered where he was. He forced himself to stop struggling, focusing instead on Ginny. His heart nearly broke when he saw she was crying. Ginny reached out and touched his face, stroking his cheek with her soft hand. The feeling of her fingers on his skin was calming and it helped him to relax. He trusted Ginny. With her, he was in no danger.

Miranda got his attention and spoke in a loud, clear voice. "Mr. Potter, I need you to listen to me. You need to try and relax. Close your eyes and go back to sleep. It's all over."

Wanting to calm down and actually doing it were two very different things, but Harry tried anyway. His wrists flexed against the tight bonds, wishing he wasn't restrained. He turned his head to look at Ginny again, wishing he could hold her. He didn't want to sleep again. He didn't want to hear the screams or see the things he'd worked so hard to forget.

Seeing Ginny's expression was what actually got him to calm down. He realized he was scaring her, and he didn't want that.

"You're safe," Miranda repeated soothingly, adjusting his blankets. "I'll remove the restraints just as soon as you fall back asleep. Just breathe deeply."

But Harry was still looking at Ginny, hating that she was hurting because of him. "I'm sorry," he said thickly. The words came out a little slurred, but she seemed to understand.

Ginny wiped her tears with her free hand. "I'm right here. Just go to sleep…"

The weight of the potion rolled over him again and he closed his eyes, wishing he didn't have to sleep. He wanted to search his own memories and reacquaint himself with who he was. He wanted to tell Ginny he loved her and he was sorry. At some point, he fell asleep and his thoughts became calm.

The next time Harry woke up, he was less aware of returning to consciousness. He felt as if he had barely slept at all. His limbs were heavy under the sheets and he wished he was still asleep.

It was the sound of a soft sigh very close to him that really made him aware of his surroundings. He remembered he was at St. Mungo's and that Miranda had used Legilimancy to cure him. He had a pounding headache, and a lot of memories in his head that had definitely not been there earlier.

Harry opened his eyes and found himself looking at Ginny, who was sleeping in a chair that she'd pulled right up to the side of his bed. He glanced down at his hands and happily noted that he was no longer restrained. Although sitting up made his head throb, he was too distracted by all the new thoughts, emotions, and memories. How were these memories his? The feeling of remembering was rather odd. It felt like a jumble of memories and aspects of someone else's identity had just been shoved into his head.

Harry looked at Ginny again, really focusing on her. Or as much as he could in the dim lighting of the room. What time was it? How long had he slept for? She was perched on the edge of the chair, her arms folded under her head as she slept on the bed. Her red hair was splayed across her shoulders and back. She was even snoring a little bit.

Ginevra Molly Weasley. The youngest Weasley, and the only daughter of Molly and Arthur. In descending order, her siblings were Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and Ron. They lived in a house called the Burrow. He started dating Ginny when he was sixteen.

All of these things were definitely in his head. It took a little longer to put all these facts together, but sifting through everything in his head was definitely preferable to the blank wall that had been there before.

He wasn't sure how much else he knew—it made him nauseous to think so much right now. How fair was that? Thinking was making him feel sick. He'd take it, though.

Harry smiled to himself, so happy he thought he might cry. Finally, he was home. He could survive here; he could have a life here. He was a wizard. He had a wand… somewhere. What was his wand core? The first thought that came to him was that he had the same wand core as Voldemort.

What wand core did they share again? Easy. Phoenix feather.

Ginny sighed in her sleep, turning her head into the hospital blanket. Harry smiled at the sound, glad that she was still here, right by his side. He didn't deserve her. But after everything he'd unwillingly put her through, here she was. She still cared about him. That was good—because he loved her.

God he'd missed her. His chest ached with the intensity of his missing her. He loved her so much that it hurt. And even stranger was the fact that everything from the last four years—all of his feelings and his thoughts—were still just as vivid to him. It was like he'd combined two people into one.

He did love Sam—those feelings were still real to him, but they'd changed, too. He also remembered what loving Ginny felt like, and that was another experience altogether. He didn't regret the last four years with Sam, even if the last four years had been a bit rocky. But even if he didn't love Ginny, he wasn't really a muggle journalist from New York. He had a past that shaped who he was. And this person, the wizard, the person who had survived a lot of dark magic, who had had the world set on his shoulders at age seventeen, couldn't love Sam the way she deserved to be loved. And he was sure that Sam couldn't love the person he really was.

There was no choice to be made: Ginny or Sam. It would always be Ginny, and as sad as that was for Sam and their future, Ginny was the only person who knew him and loved everything about him—the good and the bad.

He thought back on all the times that he'd gone to a 'dark place' after the war. Even Ron and Hermione had had a difficult time with him, but Ginny nearly always managed to get through to him. She just… understood.

Being with Ginny was right and he would end things with Sam the first chance he got. It would hurt and it would be awful, but it was right. He belonged with Ginny, in England, with his family. And Sam deserved to find the person she was meant to be with.

Harry watched Ginny as she slept, wondering if she would ever really forgive him. He believed that she wanted to forgive him, but he had no idea how long it would take for them to patch things up. Staring at her now with all his emotions and memories bubbling up at the surface, he wasn't sure he could wait long before he went crazy. He hoped she didn't push him away for long. Even if he hadn't been aware of missing her, four years apart was too much time to be apart.

Before he could stop himself, Harry gently reached out and brushed a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her hair was soft in his fingers, just like he remembered. He wondered if it still smelled like coconut. Her hair was shorter than the last time he'd seen her. He liked it. It curled naturally and framed her face. Harry pushed another strand behind her ear, half-glad that she was asleep. He always loved watching her when she slept.

Harry was about to pull his hand back when he spotted the tattoo behind her ear. Clearly, this was a recent development in their time apart. He'd nearly missed it, hidden behind her hair, but there it was: a tiny, impressively detailed tattoo of a snitch in black ink. Harry smiled as he stared at the tattoo, wondering when she'd gotten it and why. He didn't remember her ever wanting a tattoo.

Ginny must have felt his fingers in her hair because she opened her eyes and sat up, blinking sleepily. "Harry! You're awake! How are you?" Her eyes searched his face nervously as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I'm…" the nausea and the confusion initially wanted to make him saying "okay," but he changed his mind and smiled. He was better than okay. "I'm good. It worked. I remember."

Harry didn't expect Ginny to launch herself at him in a hug, so when she did, he lost a few seconds of enjoying the hug to debating the possibility of him throwing up as a result of the sudden movement. When he decided it was safe to embrace her, he hugged her tighter, pulling her onto the bed. Ginny curled up next to him and buried her face in the crook of his neck as she released a sob of relief and joy.

His own eyes burned again with unshed tears as he stroked her hair and her back. God, he'd missed her. Harry wanted nothing more than to hold her here forever and tell her how sorry he was.

He marveled again at the things he'd forgotten. Like how small she looked when she was tucked up against him. Or how she fit perfectly into his arms. He forgot the smell of her flowery perfume and how it felt to have her pressed against him.

As he held her, he silently promised her that nothing would ever keep him from her ever again. Ever.

"I can't believe it," she sobbed. "You remember?"

"I remember," he reassured her, still feeling surprised that it was true.

Ginny pulled away slightly to look at his face, still crying. When he locked his gaze with her soft brown eyes, he reached out to touch her face and wipe away the tears that streamed down her flushed cheeks. He wished she wasn't crying so he could see her beautiful smile. He had gone too long without seeing her smile. He wanted her to feel as happy, as relieved, and as perfect as he felt.

Harry brushed her hair behind her ear, his heart beating loudly in his chest. She smiled a watery smile and shook her head in disbelief. Unbelievably happy that he could remember, he smiled back and then closed the distance between them to kiss her.

Kissing Ginny was one of the many experiences he hadn't been able to miss, but the moment his lips found hers, he knew he would have missed it, if he could have. All their problems and all the things they would have to sort out disappeared the moment he kissed her. Best of all, the kiss seemed to finally break Ginny free from her careful composure. Her hands squeezed his forearms, and then slid greedily up his chest, and up to his neck. She leaned in and kissed him back just as passionately, locking her arms around his neck and tugging herself closer.

He wound his arms around her waist as he deepened the kiss. He didn't mean for a soft moan to escape him as they settled against his pillows, but he instantly regretted it when Ginny suddenly pulled back and bit her lip uncertainly.

Harry knew her well enough that she was upset for having lost control like that. He figured he knew what her arguments were: "let's take things slowly" or "this isn't the time." She probably was also concerned about the future and about how his remembering would affect James. As much as he wanted to reassure her and try to ease her fears, he also knew there was nothing he could do. He shouldn't have pushed his desires on her so quickly. She had been through emotional hell since his return and she barely had enough time to accept that he was here at all.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, gently releasing his hold on her. "I shouldn't have done that… it's too fast."

"Too fast," Ginny agreed. "Sorry, I shouldn't have…" she grinned awkwardly and shifted back onto her chair.

There was a long minute of silence when Harry wondered just how off-track they were. He fully expected to give her time to accept that he would be here and that he loved her, but he wasn't sure how much time. And the more he studied her embarrassed expression, the more he began to realize a much deeper fear. Did Ginny even want to be together at the end? Four years changed a lot of things about a person…

Ginny cleared her throat and she re-donned her mask of composure. Harry tried to hide his disappointment that they weren't going to discuss the kiss or what was bothering her. Then again, they were in a hospital and there wasn't exactly a lot of privacy.

"So you remember? You remember everything?"

In spite of the disappointment he was feeling, it was hard not to smile in answer to this question. "Everything. It feels a little jumbled, but I think it's all there."

When Ginny smiled a wide smile, one untouched by her embarrassment, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. There it was; Godric, he'd missed that smile. How could he have ever forgotten how much he loved her? How could he have forgotten anything about this woman?

Her expression darkened and she leaned in slightly, her pretty mouth drooping into a frown. "What about the person who did this to you? Can you remember who it was? Can you remember them…doing anything to you?"

Harry leaned back against his pillows and he sifted through his memoires. The harder he tried to think about the day he left, the foggier his head got. Maybe those memories were the hardest to access because they were guarded the best?

"No," he sighed, trying not to worry about it too much. "I'm sure it'll come to me later."

Ginny nodded once, her expression hard. Harry could tell that she was counting on his remembering. She would want justice to be served. To be fair, so did he. But his priorities right now all revolved around Ginny and repairing the damage he'd done. He would go back to the Aurors, beg for his job back, and also use his old connections and influence to catch this sociopath.

Harry looked distractedly around the room, realizing again that it must be late. "How long was I asleep?"

Ginny glanced at her watch. "It's nearly midnight. Miranda said you should probably stay the night. Legilimancy took a lot out of you."

"Mere minutes with Snape learning Occulumency took a lot out of me," Harry replied darkly. "This felt like hours."

"It was only about fifteen minutes, actually. It must have been painful."

"It was."

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," she murmured, looking truly sorry.

"I'm just sorry it was necessary," he replied dully.

Ginny looked as if she wasn't sure how to respond, and frankly, Harry wasn't quite sure what to say to her, either. He did know that he needed to keep her talking so that she felt more comfortable.

"What state do you think my house is in?" Harry asked, keeping his tone light. "Inhabitable?"

"Definitely. I'll help you clean it, and I'm sure my mum would pitch in."

That was good news. He very much wanted to sleep in his own bed, and not crash on anyone's couch. He'd been feeling like a nomad for far too long—though it wasn't even that long. "I want to get that done as soon as possible. I wouldn't want James to get attacked by doxies or boggarts, or whatever else has taken up residence there."

Perhaps it was the late hour, but Ginny didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "You're keeping your house here, then?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. Yes, Ginny was definitely serious doubtly his intentions. "Where else would I live?"

Ginny shrugged her slender shoulders, keeping her gaze calmly on his. "You're not going back to New York? What about your girlfriend?"

He was too tired and too nauseous to play these games with her. He reached out and took her hand, gently squeezing it. "I told you earlier today that I was staying here—I meant it then, and I mean it now. I want to be here with you and James. And now that I remember… I mean, did you really think I wouldn't stay?"

Ginny looked uncomfortable at the question and it made his heart ache that she really questioned whether or not he would stay here with her. Part of him wanted to be angry that they'd overcome so much together, and yet now she doubted him.

Harry sat up in spite of the nausea and the way his head throbbed, but he didn't care. He laced his fingers with hers and held her wary gaze. "Ginny, I love you. I'm going to end things with her… we're a family and we should be together."

Ginny swallowed with some difficulty, her eyes burning into his. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke. "You love her, too."

Harry stared at her for a long moment. Yes, it was true. He did love Sam, but it wasn't the same. He was certain that he could not live without Ginny. And as he thought back at the dream that had brought him back to London, he was even more convinced of his feelings. The very fact that he'd been able to dream of Ginny showed that his love for her was so powerful that it had broken through the curse.

Harry was about to tell her all of this, but Ginny spoke first, dropping her gaze to their intertwined hands.

"Your phone rang almost ten times while you were asleep. I finally answered it when it wouldn't stop." She hesitated before meeting his eyes again. "It was her."

Harry silently cursed, praying that Sam didn't freak out on Ginny or vice versa. Both women had something of a temper. "You talked to her?"

Ginny nodded stiffly. "Briefly. She wanted you to know that she's here… in London. And that you should go see her. I wrote the address down of the hotel she's staying at." Ginny gestured to a notepad on his bedside table with her free hand.

Harry's heart sank. Sam had flown all the way from New York just to talk to him? He had known he'd have to break her heart, but he hated that he would have to do it after she had flown all the way over here for him.

"Things haven't been going well for a while," Harry finally admitted when he didn't know what else to say. "I think she knows what's coming. I think she expects that I'll do the right thing."

When Ginny didn't speak, he reached out with his free hand to touch her face. He was startled and hurt when she flinched in the tiniest of ways at his touch. "Are you okay?"

Ginny nodded quickly and forced a smile that Harry knew at once was forced. "You should get some more sleep, it's late."

The conversation was over for now. Harry was willing to let it be for now. He hated fighting before bed. He wouldn't push Ginny too far tonight. "Yeah," he agreed. "You should go home and sleep. You look exhausted." He reluctantly released her hand.

Ginny hesitated before standing to leave, looking as uncomfortable as he felt. She pushed her hair back from her face. "Mum is at my house with James… I should let her go home," she said, as if she needed another reason to leave.

"Go," he encouraged her gently, managing a reassuring smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay," she murmured. She was about to turn and walk away, but she paused. "I'm really happy you're back to being you again," she said sincerely.

He smiled back at her as he eased back against his pillows. "Me too."

Ginny hesitated again before leaning down and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Harry hugged her back, feeling a little better about the whole situation. A hug. That was a good sign. She pulled back, promising to come back first thing in the morning with James. The prospect of seeing James again also helped alleviate his feelings of disappointment.

Harry's smile faded as he watched her leave. She would never know how much it was killing him to watch her walk away. When the door closed and he was alone, he closed his eyes, trying not to think about her choosing to leave. He was trying to ignore the fact that four years ago, she would never have left his side. He turned his back on the door and sighed heavily. Once he got out of here, he would win her back if it was the last thing he did.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: New Beginnings **

Harry did not sleep well that night. He found it extremely difficult to turn off his overactive mind. As physically tired as he felt, his brain was insisting he consider everything from Ginny, to his in-laws, to Sam, to how he could best get his belongings from New York, back to Ginny, and to his son. For several minutes he felt exhausted, but this quickly faded and he felt wide-awake once again.

When he finally managed to fall asleep, nightmares and vivid flashbacks woke him every few hours. By the time the sun had risen, he was drifting in and out of sleep, counting down until visitors' hours would begin and Ginny would come to take him back to the life he was supposed to live.

His short-term plans were to check out of St. Mungo's, get a very large cup of coffee, hug his son, and then figure out everything else. Harry found himself watching the door as he ate the only slightly terrible hospital breakfast, waiting for Ginny to return. When nine o'clock finally came and Ginny still hadn't walked in, he found himself getting nervous. He tried to remember that it was stupid to expect Ginny to be waiting outside the hospital for the clock to change to nine before charging upstairs to get him.

And yet, after a poor night of sleep, Harry felt oddly paranoid about Ginny's absence.

What if she didn't come? What if she wanted him to meet her at her place? What if she had no intention of coming to the hospital because she wanted to see him much later today? How long should he wait before he left the hospital? Was he stupid to think she would come and pick him up? Was he hoping for too much when he thought she might want to see him as badly as he wanted to see her? What if she regretted that kiss so much that she would try to avoid him? What if the kiss had scared her off?

If this was the case, he promised himself not to kiss her again until he was sure she wanted him to kiss her. Hell, he'd take hand-holding and all affectionate caresses off the list of things he was allowed to do.

Then again, Ginny really wasn't someone to avoid problems. Ginny always faced challenges head-on. She didn't like to let problems fester. Avoiding him wasn't her style at all—she was much more likely to come, even if she hated the idea. Ginny was the type of woman to walk confidently in the room and face him.

At 9:16, the door opened finally opened. However, when it was Miranda who appeared and not Ginny, his heart sank. He quickly wiped the look of utter disappointment from his face and smiled politely at the healer who had given him his memories and therefore his life back.

"Good morning, Mr Potter. How are you feeling?"

"Good," he told her quickly, hoping to convey his miraculous recovery and thereby earn himself a ticket out of here.

"And how was your sleep last night? Did you experience many flashbacks? Any anxiety or night terrors?"

He repressed the urge to shudder as he recalled some of his rather vivid nightmares. "Some, but nothing too bad." He had definitely had worse, so he felt the lie was justified.

Miranda nodded approvingly. "Well, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that I'm discharging you. Please take it easy for the next few days as your mind has been through a lot. You'll want to avoid exerting yourself or any causes of stress as it might result in some undesirable side effects, such as flashbacks or sudden bouts of anxiety or paranoia. These events could be quite disruptive to your daily life, so try to always have someone around you."

Harry was already climbing out of his bed, eager to get out of here and find Ginny. "Okay," he said, acknowledging that he had heard Miranda. Flashbacks? Anxiety? Paranoia? Done, done, and done. He'd lived through all three after the war so this didn't worry him much.

"If you find a flashback to be intense, try and sit down and breathe. Your mind might be your own worst enemy over this next twenty-four hours as your memories settle."

Harry paused in removing his clothes from the cabinet by his bed. Well, that was different than the flashbacks he used to get. "They'll be that bad?"

"It's difficult to say," Miranda admitted. "This isn't exactly a common treatment and everyone responds differently. But I would recommend that a friend or loved one sticks by you today, just for support." She looked up from his chart and smiled sympathetically. "Off the record, I recommend avoiding public places, where there members of the press are sure to swarm you at any sign of weakness."

"I will," Harry replied, promising not only Miranda, but also himself. He was definitely going to find his family and be with them. No public places and keep calm. Okay, he could do that.

"Wonderful. Just make sure you come and sign your release papers over at the desk. I will meet you there."

"Thanks!" Harry called, already dressing himself so he could get the hell out of here.

When he was finally ready to leave, he took one last look around the room to make sure he'd left nothing behind. When he spotted a folded piece of parchment, he remembered that Sam had called and asked Ginny to take a message. Harry felt a little apprehensive of seeing the message that Sam had left him through Ginny, but he unfolded the scrap of parchment anyway.

The parchment contained an address for a hotel in downtown London. Harry memorized the address before crumpling up the parchment and tossing it in the rubbish bin on the way out the door. He was relieved to see no real message from Sam.

Miranda was waiting for him at the desk near the lift. She pushed his release papers across the desk, wishing him luck and reminding him to come back if he had any questions or concerns.

"Thank you," Harry told her sincerely. "For everything."

Miranda smiled and took his papers back once he was done. "You are very welcome. Best of luck."

Miranda glanced over his shoulder and smiled. She met his gaze again and lowered her voice a little before adding, "And I hope you'll finally get your happily-ever-after. Merlin knows you've been through enough."

Slightly taken aback by her comment, Harry turned to see what had made Miranda smile. His heart lifted at what he saw: Ginny and James were walking towards him, Ginny smiling a little nervously and James looking both excited and shy. His family was here at last—come to get him. Seeing his wife and son hurrying towards him gave him a very warm and gratifying feeling, causing all his anxieties about their absence melt away.

"Sorry we're late," Ginny apologized breathlessly as they reached him. "Someone overslept," she said, nudging James teasingly.

He was sure he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care. "I didn't even notice, don't worry," he lied smoothly.

"How are you?" Ginny asked, searching his face. He could see she genuinely wanted to know how he was feeling. He also thought the question might be to confirm that he still had his memories and that maybe—just maybe—life would start going back to normal. "Feeling better?"

"Feeling more like myself," he amended with a smile. "How's it going, James?"

"Good," James replied, staring up at Harry curiously.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a "isn't he silly" look at James' small voice and wide eyes. Harry didn't mind this minor step back in their progress from yesterday. He would be around so much now that James would stop reverting before long. Ginny scooped him up into her arms with a wide smile.

"Jamie, what did you want to ask your Dad?"

James made a face at Ginny, a little embarrassed that he was being forced into talking to his father. He shrugged his little shoulders, glancing again at Harry with a curious, yet embarrassed expression. After a long moment of silence, Harry decided to cut the kid some slack.

"That's okay, James. You can ask me when you remember," Harry told him, deciding he'd rather James willingly talked to them than be forced into it. "Where do you want to go?"

He'd go anywhere she wanted right now, just so long as they were together. If it meant having an embarrassing flashback in public, so be it.

"Back to my place. I feel like we should be out of the public eye for the moment." She led the way back into the lift, asking James if he wanted to skip a little more nursery school to hang out with his dad.

"How about I make some yummy chocolate chip pancakes?" Nothing like winning over the woman he loved and his young son with his expertise in simple American breakfast cuisine.

"What's that?" James asked, perking up at the mention of chocolate.

"You'll love them. It's like eating cookies for breakfast. I make them with extra chocolate chips and then I cover them in syrup!"

James grinned, probably imagining the delights of getting to eat cookies for breakfast. Ginny was smiling, but she didn't look so keen on the idea of feeding James what sounded like dessert for breakfast.

James had obviously inherited his sweet tooth from his mum. Harry liked sweets, but he never really went out of his way to add sugar to the things he ate. That was Ginny's weakness. She loved adding little marshmallows to her cereal and smothering her toast in sugary sweet jams. He wondered if she'd grown out of her love for all sweet things, or if she would still smile in that adorable and excited way if he brought her home real Belgian chocolates from a famous Wizarding chocolatier she loved.

So James had Ginny's sweet tooth but his looks. Aside from the hair and other little things, James was very obviously his son. It made him feel ridiculously proud to have the world see that James was his and Ginny's child.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as they moved through the lobby to the designated Apparition area. People stared, whispered and pointed again, but this time there was little to distract Harry from noticing how terribly nosy people were. When a camera flashed, he had to remember that the cameras would go nuts if he made a scene about giving his family privacy. He hated it when people took photos of his family four years ago and he hated it now. Harry put his arm protectively around Ginny and bowed his head so they wouldn't get his face.

Couldn't people find anything better to do besides gossiping about his life and his family? Was it really that interesting to people that he was out and about with his wife and son?

When they reached the Apparition zone, Ginny hesitated. "Oh. Maybe I should take the Floo," she fretted, glancing over at the fireplaces.

"Why? I can take him," Harry said immediately, trying to ignore the two women to his left who were whispering excitedly about the Potters "being reunited" and how they were "so cute."

Ginny turned her body to block out the turning heads and staring faces. A camera went off and James buried his face in Ginny's chest. "Harry, you haven't Apparated, let alone Side-Along-Apparated in years."

Harry considered this for the briefest of moments, but he immediately dismissed any doubts he had. He couldn't explain his confidence, but he knew he could do this. This was an easy skill for Aurors and all the know-how he had before was fresh in his mind.

"Ginny, I swear, I can do it. It's like I never stopped."

Ginny bit her lip, unsure, but when another camera flashed, she handed James over, glancing at the nosy and rude women that Harry had been trying to ignore with an angry look on her face. Apparently, she wanted out of St Mungo's just as badly.

"Okay," she agreed, pleading at him silently with her eyes that he keep James safe. "Meet you at my house."

Harry gave her a reassuring smile, held James closely and Disapparated. James squirmed uncomfortably in his arms, but Harry held on tightly. When they reappeared, they were standing in the entrance hall of Ginny's home. Harry reluctantly set James on the floor and Ginny appeared next to him moments later.

Their shoulders brushed as Ginny Apparated only centimetres from where he had appeared. She smiled up at him a little apologetically, making Harry's heart skip a beat in his chest. She was so beautiful when she blushed. It made him ache to not be able to lean over and kiss her.

Ginny gave James a half-hug, unable to hide her obvious relief that her son hadn't been Splinched. Harry repressed his mild exasperation that Ginny didn't have much faith in his capabilities. He understood that he hadn't done magic in four years and that Ginny did have a right to second-guess him. He still wasn't sure how he just _knew _he could Side-Along-Apparate with James.

"Did you like Apparating?"

"No," James replied unhappily. "It's not fun."

"No, it's not much fun," Harry agreed. "You get used to it, though."

James' doubtful expression clearly displayed his disagreement with this statement.

Ginny smiled at James' expression. "It's a lot faster than the Floo network. It's good that Dad remembers magic and can Apparate with you."

James didn't have a response for this. Instead, he scampered off saying he had to use the loo. Harry and Ginny both watched him go, and now that they were alone again, Harry began to feel the awkward tension settle between them.

"Want a cup of tea?" Ginny asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Please," Harry agreed quickly.

Ginny led the way into her tidy little kitchen and gestured for him to sit at the island while she poured water into the kettle. Harry watched her move, observing her slow and deliberate movements, as if she were trying to bide time until James came back. She _really_ wanted to keep her distance with him for now.

"For my last birthday Hermione bought me a very large tea collection," Ginny told him, pulling a wide rectangular box from one of the cupboards. "I've got so much tea and I don't know what to do with it." She set it on the table. "Pick your poison."

Harry looked through the collection, eventually deciding on a Earl Grey tea while Ginny picked out a regular English Breakfast tea. She set the tea bags in blue mugs and tapped the kettle with her wand. After fixing the tea in silence, she poured a glass of pumpkin juice for James and then settled down on the other side of the island.

Harry took a slow sip of his tea and smiled. "It's good," he said, mostly to fill the silence with conversation.

"Good," she responded with a smile.

Harry's heart sank as he tried to think of something—anything—that would spark conversation with her. He was sure they hadn't had this much trouble making conversation since Ginny had a crush on him as a little girl. He wracked his brain thinking of some topic that could get them talking as easily as they used to.

What was wrong here? It wasn't just Ginny—he didn't know what to say. It was as if he had forgotten how to be himself around her.

"James will probably take his sweet time coming down here," Ginny said finally, glancing at the glass of juice. "He treats bathroom time like it's playtime. I've caught him hiding little toys in the cupboards. He locks the door and he lets his imagination run wild."

"That's okay. It gives us some time to get reacquainted."

"True…"

Silence.

Ginny pursed her lips, clearly straining to find something to say. There was only a brief pause before Ginny looked up at him. "I've been meaning to tell you… I like your new glasses. They're very distinguished."

Harry reached up to touch his glasses, realizing for the first time that they were very different from the ones Ginny remembered. Sam had teased him pretty endlessly about the round frames until he'd gone to the optometrist and bought a new pair. These were black, rectangular, stylish, and cost more money than he had cared to spend on eyewear.

Nevertheless, Sam had loved them, so he bought them to impress her back in those early days of their relationship. Now they felt strange on his face and he felt very self-conscious.

"Thank you. New Harry, new city, new glasses, I suppose."

Ginny smiled, though there was something sad in her eyes. "Well, they look good on you."

"Not as good as that tattoo," Harry replied with a grin.

Ginny chuckled and brushed her fingers against the snitch inked behind her ear. "You saw it, huh?"

"I can't believe you got a tattoo!"

Ginny blushed slightly and shrugged. "I've actually always wanted one, I was just never brave enough to get one. My teammate got one on her foot, but she got hers with a charm. It's a moving tattoo—it can fly from her toes to her knee."

"You didn't want yours to move?"

"I didn't want mine to be able to land on my face. Snitches are supposed to be hard to find. I didn't want to make it easy for Mum."

Harry chuckled. "She doesn't know you have it?"

Ginny laughed without humour. "Oh, no. George pointed it out to her. I couldn't even keep it hidden for two weeks. Mum wasn't happy—she didn't think it was very grown-up of me to get a tattoo when I had a two-year-old."

"You're only twenty-five, still plenty young! In the Muggle world, people are graduating from school and binge-drinking at your age."

Ginny smiled. "Very true. It's sort of not fair—we grow up faster in the Wizarding world. Less time to party and enjoy your freedom." Ginny's smile disappeared and she looked apologetic. "Not that I regret how I've lived my life, of course. I just wanted a tattoo before I was really too old to get one."

Harry suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Hadn't he been living the sort of life that she might have envied when the times got tough? While Ginny had been dealing with temper tantrums, dirty nappies, illness, and the complications of being a single parent, he'd been dating, partying, and generally enjoying his life in New York. He'd been to rooftop parties and spent New Year's Eve in Times Square. He'd left responsibility and maturity back at home with his family.

He would start making it up to her right now. "Well, if you want to go out and party with the Harpies, you have me. Pick a night and go get wild with the girls."

Ginny laughed again and rolled her eyes—her laughter sounding a little more natural this time. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm serious! Besides, it would give me and James a little more time to get to know each other. I've missed out on so much. Who are his friends, what does he like, what does he not like, what's his favourite food, when did he do his first magic?"

"You'll catch up," Ginny reassured him. "He likes you, you know. He'll let you in his world."

"I've missed four years already… I'll never catch up, but I'll be damned if I miss anything else."

"Well, he's got three good mates at his nursery school—Jack, Henry, and Liam. He's also got this cute little crush on a little girl named Ella. James like dragons—but you knew that. He does not like any green-coloured food and he doesn't like blueberries. His favourite food is macaroni and cheese.

"And his first magic was when he was two and a half. Ron scared him with some firecrackers that George had just designed. He screamed and cried. He was so upset that he ended up putting on some super speed and ran away. Luckily, Ron has good Apparating reflexes as an Auror. He managed to Apparate directly in his path and caught him."

"Wow. Super speed? That's impressive."

Ginny nodded, smiling like a proud parent should. "I thought so. Nearly gave me a heart attack, though."

Harry took a drink of his tea, thinking about all the questions he wanted to ask. Instead, he asked one that was a bit more serious. "Is he happy?"

Ginny's expression softened and she nodded. "Yes! He's got friends, he's kept busy, he likes his school." Ginny paused, leaning forward. "And now his father came home. He's wanted to meet you for a long time."

"Has he asked about me much?"

"Of course he has. No one, including myself, ever shied away from the subject of you. And I swear that no one ever spoke poorly of you. And the door to James will always be open to you."

Harry managed not to falter in his smile, but he didn't like how she said that. She was still thinking of the future in terms of their separation, and that was not how he was picturing the future. He wanted his life back—and that included his wife and family. Apparently, getting his memory back didn't change things for Ginny.

"Thank you," he said finally, deciding it wasn't worth arguing the point when he heard James coming down the stairs.

Harry laughed and smiled through breakfast, feeling more at home than he'd felt in a long time. Once breakfast was over, all three of them helped to clean up the sticky mess. When the dishes were done, Ginny announced that James should be getting to nursery school, now that he was nearly an hour late. She sent James upstairs to change his now syrup-covered shirt.

"What do you do when he's at nursery school?" Harry asked curiously, though he was actually interested in the chances of them spending the afternoon catching up.

"I have practice," Ginny answered, opening the closet and pulling out a large duffel bag.

Disappointment filled Harry quickly as he watched her tug on a Harpies jumper. So spending the day with Ginny was out.

"What do you think you'll do with your time?" Ginny asked him. "I'm sorry we can't spend some time together," she added, almost like an after-thought.

"I guess I'll go see Sam," he said, feeling glum about this. "Might as well go get that over with."

Ginny nodded, unaffected by his plans. "You got the address?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." She took her duffle bag to the front door and then called up the stairs to tell James to hurry.

Harry watched as James came down and retrieved his backpack. Ginny asked him if he had his lunch, his jumper, and his show-and-tell object. James said yes to all three and slung his little bag over one shoulder.

"Where are you going?" James asked him as Ginny hurried him into the living room.

"Daddy is going to see his friend Sam. He'll be back later."

"Is Sam a girl's name?" James asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Yep. She's from New York—where I was," Harry said.

"Oh," James said simply, considering his information.

"Ready, Freddy?" Ginny said, handing him some Floo Powder. "Grandmum wants to have a big dinner tonight, so we'll go there after school, okay?"

"Will Harry come?" James asked, taking a fistful of powder.

"Yes, of course. We'll all go together." James looked pleased with this and he stepped into the grate. He left for nursery school, leaving Harry and Ginny once more.

"So I'll see you later, then?" Ginny said, glancing at him as she went back to the door. Harry got the feeling that she was trying to avoid spending much time with him.

"Yeah, I don't expect to be gone long," Harry said heavily. "I don't foresee this being a particularly long conversation…"

Ginny picked up her duffle bag, regarding him thoughtfully. "Alright. Well…see you later." She smiled, but again she looked as if she were avoiding saying something.

Harry came into the entrance hall with her to Disapparate. "See you." And then he Disapparated to avoid having to stand in her empty house and dwell on the fact that Ginny was certainly not lowering her guard any time soon.

He Apparated into an alley about two blocks away from the hotel where Sam was staying. He emerged slowly and pulled out his phone. He started dialling her number, but then chickened out and texted her instead.

_What room are you in?_

Harry leaned against the building and looked around at the passing pedestrians as he waited for Sam to text him back. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.

_510_. _You here?_

_Yes. Be there in five_.

Harry pushed off the wall, his heart beating a little faster in his chest as he walked toward the hotel. It suddenly occurred to him that he was actually breaking up with her now. Over the four years, the thought had crossed his mind a few times in their worst fights. He had imagined breaking up with her, and how terrible it would be. Of course, part of what made it terrible was trying to imagine his life without her. At the time, with no memories and few friends in New York, this was a very empty and pathetic life.

Harry walked through the lobby and to the lifts, officially feeling anxious about this impending breakup. He wasn't nervous because he didn't know if he was sure or because he didn't want to. He knew that between the two, there was never any competition. He loved Ginny. He loved his wife, but breaking up with Sam was to officially shut the door on the last four years. Breaking up with Sam meant dumping someone he loved. Breaking up with Sam meant breaking her heart, and he hated to have to hurt her.

Harry stepped off the lift and into the hallway, but then the strangest thing happened. He wasn't seeing a hallway—he was seeing a Transfiguration classroom and McGonagall was teaching them about partial Transfiguration of a live object into another live object.

He could see the blackboard and his classmates around him. He felt the wooden desk under his hands and he smelled the smells of the Hogwarts castle. McGonagall's voice rang in his ears, insisting that they focus entirely on the object and how it moved.

"_Focus." _

Harry underlined the word as McGonagall spoke it again. When McGonagall repeated herself two more times, Harry firstly became aware of the fact that he was having a flashback and second, that that memory was becoming distorted as his brain tried to sort out what was happening.

"Focus," he told himself, reaching out his hand toward the aisle of the classroom, but instead finding an invisible solid wall. Harry stared at his hand and suddenly he was back in the hallway again.

Breathing heavily, Harry stood upright and dropped his hand, grateful that no one had seen the little episode. That memory had been incredibly vivid. Harry hoped to god that he didn't have one of those in front of Sam. Or worse, that he had a flashback of something terrible in front of Sam.

Harry set off down the corridor and when he finally got to Sam's door, he hesitated with his fist raised to knock. He closed his eyes, hating this. This never should have happened. He didn't want to regret having met her—he didn't regret having met and fallen in love with her—but it might have been worth being lonely to avoid hurting Sam this way.

When Sam opened the door, there was a long moment of awkwardness where Harry wasn't sure what to do with himself. Her soft features and her red-rimmed eyes caught him off guard. He couldn't tell if she was tired, if she'd been crying or both. He hadn't seen her in a matter of days, but it felt like so much longer. Standing in front of Sam now felt surreal, as if he was literally a different person than he'd been the last time he'd seen her.

Fortunately, Sam seemed just as lost as he felt. He felt like a fool, standing in her doorway, mouth open like an idiot. They'd been together for four years, and yet he couldn't find the guts to even say "hello."

"Hey," she finally said, cracking a wide smile that didn't fool him.

"Hi."

They embraced, but the hug was just as awkward as the greeting. Sam pecked him on the cheek as she pulled back and then waved him inside her hotel room.

"How are you?" She asked, avoiding his gaze as she moved further into the room.

"I'm okay," he replied, mentally kicking himself for being such a moron.

Sam decided to sit on the edge of the bed and Harry pulled up the sole chair in the room and took a seat across from her. "Just okay?" she asked, smiling slightly. "I heard you got your memories back—shouldn't you be a little more than 'just okay?'"

She knew about that? Apparently, the conversation between Ginny and Sam had gone on a little longer than Ginny had let on. He wondered how much Ginny had said and what sorts of things Sam had asked Ginny. Had Ginny had to lie a lot when it came to Sam asking about his miraculous recovery? Had there been tension? Angry words? Accusations?

"Yeah… I guess I should be a lot happier, but it's also a huge adjustment," he told her. "But you're right—I shouldn't complain."

Sam smiled slightly and glanced at her watch. "Any idea where we could get a cup of coffee around here? I'd like to get out of this hotel room and stretch my legs."

"Sure," Harry lied. Truthfully, he had no idea where anything was in this part of Muggle London, but a coffee shop shouldn't be hard to find. He hoped they were far enough away from any possible passing wizards or witches.

Despite the risk of being seen, Harry also liked the idea of getting out of this tiny room to have such a terrible conversation. A walk outside seemed like a much better way to tell her what he had to tell her.

The walk down the corridor and the lift ride were a little awkward, but Sam did a pretty good job of keeping up a fairly constant conversation about what she'd been up to and about work. Harry couldn't help but notice how odd it felt to be walking beside her—he was very aware of how close her hand was to his. She never reached out to take his hand, though, and while this was a good thing, it felt odd to have this distance closed between them.

Whenever their skin brushed and Sam smiled or laughed, she got this hopeful, broken look in her eyes. It was killing him. He could tell she sensed what was coming and that she was putting on a brave face.

They found a coffee shop called Caffè Nero, but Sam insisted they order it to go. Holding coffee made it easier not to think about the distance between them, but every reflection of themselves that Harry saw made him feel a little sadder. How easy life had been living in New York. Easy, but unfulfilling and ultimately, lonely. Still, he wondered what life might have been if he'd never remembered.

Would he have married Sam, as she had always wanted? Would he have had a child with her? Looked at her as he used to look at Ginny? Would he really have been able to love her the way he'd loved Ginny?

The longer they walked, the more sure he was that the answer was no. Sam was amazing. She was beautiful, intelligent, and funny. However, she was also complicated, anxious, and temperamental at times. Sam had been impatient with him on some of his worst days—on days where he'd needed her to be the most understanding.

All of her flaws aside—she could have been perfect, too. Sam just wasn't the one he was meant to be with. Harry wasn't sure he believed in soul mates or any of that romantic rubbish, but he was sure about Ginny. He'd been sure about Ginny from their first date. He'd never found another person aside from Ron or Hermione who made him feel like Ginny did—happy, normal, and content.

They ended up walking through a small park, passing other couples, joggers, and dog-walkers. They hadn't gone far before Sam finally changed the conversation, keeping a calm smile on her face.

"She sounds lovely—your wife." Harry considered her tone, but quickly decided that Sam was being sincere, and not sarcastic or mean.

"She's a very nice person," Harry agreed, feeling like this was a safe answer. Ginny was much more than nice and lovely, but Sam didn't need to hear that.

Sam's voice was guarded when she asked, "So she told you we spoke?"

"She told me you called," Harry amended. "She didn't really go into detail about your conversation."

"I asked how you were and how you got your memories back. She was pretty vague on that, by the way. She said you were undergoing some sort of treatment?"

"Yeah. From a specialist in London," Harry said quickly, wanting to hurry Sam past these specifics. "I guess something clicked. I remember everything…"

Sam looked mildly impressed, but the rest of her mind was elsewhere. "And she said you weren't able to come to the phone…"

Harry immediately sensed her suspicion and jealousy. "I was asleep."

Sam looked so obviously relieved that Harry had to resist rolling his eyes. Did she really think he was the type to cheat on her? "Really?"

"Yeah. Why, what did Ginny tell you?"

"That you were asleep… I just worried…" she smiled sadly and shook her head. "Never mind. I was being stupid." She reached out and touched his cheek with fingers that shook slightly. "You're here now."

Harry opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but his tongue was having trouble working. She looked so sad that part of him was having trouble getting the truth out. So sad, so broken, and even though he knew what he really wanted, and what he needed to do, there was a part of him that was hurting too because he did love Sam.

He did love her. Four years was a long time to be with someone.

"I missed you, Harry. More than I can tell you. I'm so sorry I flew over here. I know you need time and that my being here is stupid and makes me look pathetic, and paranoid and insecure, but I just couldn't stay away. Not when I know that you're probably re-thinking…everything." She swallowed, searching his face. "Anyway, all I want is to make sure you remember me—that you remember us and the last four years—before making your decision."

"Sam," Harry tried to say when she moved a little closer, his chest aching.

Her eyes welled with tears as she shrugged, looking beautiful and broken. "I love you. I know I haven't always been fair or understanding, but I do love you. I love you so much."

Sam closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his briefly. She slowly pulled back, looking up at him from under long, wet lashes.

Hating himself, he shook his head and gently placed his hands on her arms to brace her. "I can't…" Harry told her, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry, but I can't."

Sam stared up at him for a long moment before untangling herself. "I guess that means you're choosing her." She wasn't angry, or accusing. It was just a simple statement of fact.

Before he could reply, Sam shakily exhaled, sounding as if she were holding back a sob. She stood up and moved away from him, turning her back on him.

"It's not about choosing Ginny," Harry disagreed, desperately hoping she would understand. If not today, then maybe one day. "It's not a conscious choice. There's so much you don't know about me, about where I've come from. Ginny has always been there for me. She's been through it all, too. She understands me in ways that only a few people do."

Sam turned to face him again, her eyes shining brightly with tears. "You make it sound so complicated—loving you, I mean." Sam said, sounding a little wild. "It's not some impossible thing, Harry." She choked back a sob. "Tell me. Tell me what's so different now."

Harry hesitated, trying to figure out a reason that wouldn't have to do with his past in the Wizarding world. Sam took his silence to mean he didn't have a reason. She breathed out angrily and rolled her eyes. "Don't give me this rubbish about you're different now and that I don't know you at all. If you want to be with her, then at least be honest about why you're ending it with me."

Part of him wanted to swear that he had good reasons about why they were different. He had his vague argument lined up in his head, but instead he sighed and nodded. Sam didn't deserve vague, half-truths that would keep her guessing forever.

"I do love her. I've always loved her."

He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't Sam's reaction. Her shoulders drooped in defeat, but she held his gaze and didn't cry. She took a moment to speak, as if she were collecting her thoughts.

"I wish I was braver or selfish, because I'd ask you to pick me, to stay with me. But I want you to be happy. So if she's the person who makes you happy, I can let you go. Just promise me she makes you happy."

"She does. She's my whole world, Sam. Her and my son."

"And she feels the same?"

The question made his stomach churn uneasily. It brought up how worried he was about his future with Ginny. He knew that she cared about him, and that she still loved him, but he really had no idea if she was still _in love_ with him. He honestly didn't know how Ginny felt. There was still a good chance that he would never be with Ginny again.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if she didn't love him. He would always love her and he would be there for her and for James.

Sam read his expression and tilted her head to the side curiously. "You don't know?" She asked in surprise.

"We haven't really had the time to discuss it," Harry replied, sounding more anxious than he'd meant to come across as feeling. Sam didn't need to hear how concerned he was.

Sam didn't have a response to that. After a very long and awkward silence, Harry decided it was time to leave.

"I should go," Harry said carefully, wishing it didn't have to end so terribly. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

"I know," she cried, forcing a sad smile. "I know you are. Sorry, I mean."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut. She kept wiping away her tears before they could spill on her cheeks.

"Goodbye Harry."

"Bye Sam," he said, his own eyes burning with tears.

This was hard. Harder than he'd thought it'd be. He hoped she'd be happy one day with someone else. She'd find the right person, too. She was warm, and wonderful, and beautiful. She deserved to find someone who would feel the same about her as he felt about Ginny. She deserved to find the person who would be perfect for her, just as Ginny was perfect for him.

They locked eyes and she slowly moved into his embrace, hugging him tightly. Harry wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. He hated goodbyes.

Sam pulled back, her face flushed. She hastily wiped at her tears and waved in farewell as she walked away. Harry watched her go, blinking the tears from his eyes. He felt as if he was watching his life of the last four years walk away. And in a way, he supposed he was. Those were the memories of another person altogether. The man Sam loved didn't exist in real life. All of that was walking away with Sam forever.

He was both Harrys now—old and new. He was a different person and he had to figure out how to be both people. He wanted a lot of the old stuff back—family, job, house, but not everything would come easy. Maybe parts would never come at all.

Could Ginny feel the same way one day? Could she possibly love him again after all that they'd been through? Their relationship had been under tremendous amounts of pressure through fights, separation, temper, the war, and now through this. How many ways could their relationship be mangled before it was too broken to be fixed? How many promises had he broken?

_Temporarily broken_, he reminded himself fiercely.

He'd keep every promise—even the broken ones.


End file.
